Proctor of the Twilight Empire
by Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo
Summary: Proctor's are the epitome of fear and justice within Britannian society. Standing above all else in station -even princes and princesses- their role is to be the vicious blood-hound of the reigning monarch; the eyes, ears, and hands with which to instigate the will of the Emperor. A title more akin to spy, assassin, and secret police. Where a Proctor goes, blood is sure to follow.
1. Chapter 1

**Proctor of the Twilight Empire  
**_**Painting Sable on Black  
Turn 1**_

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'_Established in 1556 by the first ever female regent, Queen Mary the First, the _Proctors_ became the epitome of fear throughout the empire. Despite only have been in power for three years, Queen Mary had developed a deep seeded paranoia of any remnants of the royal family –with possible exception to her half-sister Elizabeth- and the nobility. As such, she developed a secret police force, with unlimited power and the order to 'detain any who threaten the crown', to which she labelled 'Proctors'. However, despite the work of her _Proctors_, it was not a political enemy that felled the Queen labelled 'Bloody Mary', but instead her own body. As Elisabeth the First took the throne upon herself, she continued the use of the _Proctors _her half-sister established'_

-Gregory Wilde, Excerpt from '_Encyclopaedia Britannia_; **Proctors**', Published 2003 A.T.B

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_**Prince Lelouch V. Britannia, Dishonoured**_

_**2011 A.T.B.**_

_**TIME UNKNOWN**_

_**Mt. Fuji Sakuradite Mining Complex**_

The sound of my feet resounded in the massive hall, the wake of my regal gown whipping at my feet as I strode forward with long, measured steps. The royal purples of my attire burned bright in the dim light, casting the illusion of malevolence as I approached the podium ahead. Guards shifted uncomfortably as I passed, flinching at my very presence. I reached the threshold of the dais, my stance rigid and eyes burning. I grit my teeth as I looked upon the six pangkem, before bowing my head.

"Oh? What is an exiled and presumably dead prince doing before the Six Houses of Kyoto?" The voice behind the left-most pangkem taunted from behind the silk cloth, his voice most clearly masculine. I sneered at the man, opting to ignore him as I turned my attention to the remaining members.

"I am here to propose a business alliance," I spat back, the general atmosphere of the entire audience turning to surprise.

"And why should we not just turn you in to the Britannian Empire?"

I bored my eyes into the man behind the third pangkem, causing the man to shift uncomfortably. After a tense second, I let out a sigh before my face twisted into a smirk, "You need me more than I thought if you do not even recognise the value in having a prince at your side,"

"You insolent little brat!" The left-most pangkem growled. I couldn't help the smirk that had yet to leave my face. _Perfect_. Violent mutterings began between the three mobile thrones to the left; this boy had just made an affront to their pride! It was unacceptable.

"You still have not given us a reason to not hand you back to the Emperor," I cocked my eyebrow at the speaker, the second from the right. I resisted the urge to break down in laughter as I recognised the voice behind the Pangkem.

"As you are well aware, Taizo Kirihara, I was exiled here prior to the war. You would gain nothing from sending me to the emperor; he doesn't want me. However, despite my exile, I still have access to resources you would otherwise have unavailable," I reasoned, unable to hold back the feeling of smugness as I watched the members squirm. Taking advantage of the moment of confusion, I reached to my side and withdrew a large folio bound in a manila folder, "Besides, I have unquestionable proof of your involvement in the hiding and supplying of the remnants of the Japanese Military; need I remind you what the punishment for High Treason is?"

I was admittedly surprised when Kirihara began to chuckle at me, and frowned as it soon evolved into a full blown laugh. The other members nervously joined in, not entirely sure what was happening. When he finally stopped, a malicious grin took hold of his features, "I see that the only thing the war has changed is your thirst for blood!" He looked me write in the eye, a glint of pleasure prominent in the dark pupils. "What business do you bring forward to the Six Houses, young prince?" I let my features fall back to neutrality; business was no place for emotion, Schneizel had taught me that much.

"I am to live with the Ashford family for the next few years. The family still retains some of the key engineers of the Knightmare Frames they worked on prior to my mother's death," When slight concern flashed across their features, I raised my hand in a calming gesture, "You needn't worry, I will provide them with the funds to continue their work into advancing Knightmares and weaponry. What I plan to offer is to then forward the schematics to the Six Houses for your own uses," I offered to the greedy business men surrounding me. I watched with masked glee as the bodies of the six members tensed and quivered; they were hooked.

With a sigh of defeat, the members all conceded to me. "Very well; what is it that you request in exchange?"

The conditions had been met; victory was mine. My body relaxed in the slightest, my eyes gazing over the six businessmen with malicious glee.

"I only request the Six Houses' support in my future endeavours,"

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_**Prime Minister Schniezel E. Britannia, 2**__**nd**__** Prince of Britannia**_

_**June 15**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B**_

_**2:17PM**_

_**Weapon Test Site, Nevada Desert**_

"Now presenting Royal Protectorate Industries RPI-209 Gloucester Knightmare Frame," The announcement came out over one of the many speakers that lined the room, the booming voice echoing within the tight confines. I gazed out onto the barren, sandy field in front of me, guarded from the scorching heat by the thick, glass visor. I rested deeply into my throne, the comfortable silken seats making the test bunker somewhat bearable. Nobles seated in much smaller seats chattered incessantly, obviously excited to see what next generation Knightmare frame RPI had brought out, considering the grand success of their Glasgow and Sutherland models. To my right was my ever present personal aide and confidante Kanon Maldini, his stance poised in polite attention to all of the nobility swirling through the room. To my left was my newest contractor, the rather eccentric, young (though still my senior) engineer, Earl Lloyd Asplund, who could not seem to withhold his excitement.

One of the presenters of the Knightmare came forward, obviously another noble judging by his immaculate garb and portly appearance. He came forward with a faux, forced grace that only came off as clumsy and bloated, sweeping his arms in massive, theatrical gestures, selling the model as the newest generation of Knightmare frames. The nobility around me murmured in excited agreement as they watched, impressed by the specs that the salesmen spewed, the jargon going right over their heads. Lloyd listened in anticipation, taking in the data as it was fed to him, equal portions of amusement and scepticism evident on his face.

Though the Gloucester was obviously superior to the Sutherland, its specs only just barely trumped its predecessor, something I was not entirely convinced to pay double for. The entire demonstration was an act of arrogance, RPI obviously far too convinced in their ability to retain the title of the military's main arms manufacturer. Videos were displayed of the bulky machine as it zoomed along a majestic desert background, destroying all in its path in an appallingly romantic fashion akin to a military recruitment advertisement. The nobility about me all looked hooked as the frame skewered another machine with its long, golden lance, enthralled by the new and improved Knightmare frame that ultimately brought nothing new to the field apart from a shiny, pointy stick. As the video ended, applause sounded throughout the hall, everyone -sans myself and party- impressed.

The speaker buzzed to life once more, the rich baritone of the presenter flooding the chamber.

"Our final participant in today's showcase is the ALI-14 Colchester Knightmare Frame, developed by Ashford Lamperouge Industrial,"

Sparks of scorn rippled throughout the amassed crowd; disdainful whispers on the credibility of a machine made in 'a country full of monkeys' flitted about the room. Vicious rumours that the disgraced Ashfords had taken the employ of Numbers in order to save their crumbling business empire ran rampant through the gathering, while others threw accusations of profiteering or embezzlement at the name of the Ashfords. Perhaps it was only I, but no one else seemed to take any notice of the fact that the business empire forged from the ashes of the old had taken up the late consort Marianne's maiden name as well as their own, something that would have them receive the contempt of the nobility.

Taking a mental note to have it investigated further, I watched on once more as a rather spindly man came forward. He bore none of the same forced extravagance as RPI's representative, nor did he clothe himself in the same finery. His clothes were droll, a simple grey business suit that melded with his equally grey hair. His sharp blue eyes hid behind thin steel framed glasses, while his angular face held stoic under the withering glares of the nobility.

"Good afternoon Lords and Ladies," He spoke unwavering, his monotone both dull and captivating, "I am here to present not only ALI's newest Knightmare frame, but any and all accompanying parts. I will spare the details of the machine itself in favour of a demonstration instead."

The man took his bow, vacating his position to reveal the sandy desert once more. Earl Asplund to my side shifted slightly, eyes glued to the screen; something you would expect from a man inspired by the creations of this very company. Kanon had lost interest long ago in the Knightmares, something I could understand entirely, and had instead opted to revise my upcoming schedule. I resisted the urge to sigh, wishing vaguely that I didn't have to be here; I have far more pressing matters than to watch some mechanics show off their latest toys when it was already clear that RPI had, once again, taken home the gold.

The buzzer sounded, and eight Sutherland frames dropped from their VTOL aircraft onto the pseudo battlefield, their slash harkens lowering them to the ground with controlled speed. Their landspinners hit the floor and the machines moved into a tight formation, KMF rifles aimed out at all directions. The viewing screen lit up with the profiles of the test pilots, tagging themselves to the respective Knightmares, displaying their experience in Knightmare combat –all battle-hardened veterans- as well as their average synchronisation with the machine they piloted; all scored roughly around eighty-seven per cent , all skilled pilots, to be sure. At the very bottom of the screen, almost out of view was a ninth profile, this of a relative rookie by comparison, armed with only an eighty-three per cent synchronisation rate. To anybody looking upon the statistics, it would seem a hopeless match for the individual tester. My interest piqued, and I found myself compelled to watch the upcoming battle. Earl Asplund seemed to have a similar mind, humming in amusement.

"Now introducing the Colchester Knightmare Frame, Duelling Variant!" and for a few brief seconds, nothing happened. Asplund waited with bated breath, and I concurred with him; yet nothing came.

Then, like the hammer of gods, a shimmer slammed into the ground with a resounding thud, causing the dust to cascade into the air. Several of the nobles snorted derisively, not bothering to hide their amusement at the mishap. The Sutherlands moved into an attack formation, spraying massive metal slugs into the encroaching dust cloud with swift and precise attacks. To any and all concerned, the battle was over. With a sense of finality, the dust began to settle once more, and all that was left on the battlefield was the iconic royal purple Imperial Sutherlands. Lloyd let out a pout of disappointment, and I myself frowned slightly not moving until the results had been called, despite the many nobles already moving for the door.

A muted, yet massive crack resounded, shaking the soundproof bunker and reverberating the massive screen. The speakers crackled as they tried to dampen the massive sound. All attention was immediately drawn back to the screen, where a slightly magnified image of a Sutherland, sans the lower left side of its body, was thrown back into the dust, landing on the left shoulder with enough force to crack the earth under it. The ejection pod activated, skittering across the earth as the frame went up in flames. The remaining Sutherlands immediately dispersed, surrounding the crater in the centre, and spreading their numbers simultaneously. The nobility within the bunker scanned the scenery, looking for the cause of the attack. What they failed to see, however, was that the attack came from the one place they failed to look; the crater of the 'dead' machine. It was the tiniest flicker of movement, something only the keen eye could see.

Rising from the dust of the crater, coated in the very earth itself, was a warrior automaton. Though it sat at a half metre shorter than the enemy surrounding it, it held itself with certain poise, menacing to those around it. It was thin in nature, lacking the solid build of the Knightmare before it in favour of segmented, carapace plates bound to the almost skeletal frame. In its thin hands was a long rifle, its black paint disguising with the dark ground. Its legs, while thicker than the rest of the body, still appeared thin in comparison to the machinations bent on assailing it. Unlike all the other machines, more startling than most other difference, was the lack of the landspinners rigged to the back of the legs. There was undeniable similarity between the body of this machine and that of the Ganymede Knightmare Frame -distinguished mostly by the angular, hexagonal faceplate, with sharp, diagonal eye slots- something that caused the scientist to my side to quiver with anticipation.

With the smoothest of motions, the machine spun on its heel and levelled the weapon at the furthest Sutherland, giving no warning before another massive shot was let loose. The projectile smacked into the ground a metre in front of the machine with force enough to hurl the Sutherland into the air, now missing the base of its feet. The lead Sutherland attempted to take advantage of the Colchester's distraction, letting loose a volley of magnetically accelerated bullets. As if with the force of premonition, the Colchester discarded its long rifle and engaged some unseen wheels, propelling itself directly to the left and evaded the onslaught of bullet, a feat impossible for most conventional Knightmare. Swivelling with motored grace, the Colchester reached behind and withdrew another weapon, this one much more stout by comparison as the frame skimmed along the red ground at great speed. The lead Sutherland who'd taken the shot engaged his own landspinners in reverse, retreating as fast as the machine could take him while his compatriots attempted to distract the newcomer with a hail of projectiles, to no avail. The Colchester rounded on the Sutherland, its mobility unmatched by the elder machine. Without any further warning, the Dueller Variant depressed the trigger, blasting the legs of the Sutherland in reminiscence of a buckshot to flesh and bone, toppling the machine as shrapnel and oils sprayed like viscera. The ejection pod blasted away as the frame detonated on contact with the ground.

A shot from an accompanying Sutherland found its mark upon the Colchester, carving into the segmented plate armour with ease and destroying the left elbow joint. Seemingly unhindered by the fact that the shot had incapacitated its arm, the Colchester dashed across the field, handheld cannon blazing continuously as it passed, taking out one, two, three more, the Sutherlands all but destroyed while their piloting pods deployed like fireworks. The final two Sutherlands regrouped, discarding their rifles and charging at the Dueller Variant with stun tonfa raised. I found myself enthralled, analysing the segmented plates of the Colchester for any sign of a close combat weapon in which to counter the tonfa. The Colchester zipped between the Sutherlands. The more skilled pilots in the elder machines took advantage of the situation, smashing their tonfa into the side of the Colchester with enough force to crack a Sutherland. The Dueller Variants light armour buckled slightly under the force, the left arm now dangling further down the side of the machine, but was otherwise unharmed by the pincer attack. The Colchester brought its arm above its head, the top of the vambrace disengaging from the rest of the armour, flicking on a hinge until the plate was extended past the hand in the shape of a massive blade protruding from the arm. With a smooth downward, diagonal swing, the blade carved through the Sutherlands armour with ease, severing the head through the neck and continuing past the shoulder until its entire right side was torn free. Taking advantage of the momentum, the Dueller Variant spun on its heel and levelled its arm at the remaining Sutherland, who'd used its compatriot's demise to stage an escape, and fired the blade as a slash harken, the armour propelling itself into the Sutherland and sending its delicate Sakuradite core into overload.

The Colchester now stood in the middle of an empty field, the eviscerated remains of eight Imperial Sutherlands lying in blazing wrecks, their piloting pods splayed across the field. The hexagonal face with its slanted eyes looked around the field with an almost human quality, pleased somewhat with its work. Satisfied, the damaged machine began to fold in on itself, the spitting image of its predecessor, the MR-1. Earl Asplund cackled in joy, bouncing in his seat excitedly at the Ashford's newest toy. Though I may not have shown it outwardly, I could say that Asplund's reaction was not too far from my own.

The announcer came forward once more, hints of amusement prevalent. "As you can see, the ALI-14 Colchester frame greatly outclasses the RPI-11 Sutherland Knightmare Frame," The screen lit up behind him and he side stepped to allow us to view what had just come into view. A VTOL carrier was picking up the damaged frame while five identical craft dropped off more of the compacted frames. As the VTOL aircraft lifted off once more, the compacted frames rose in unison, all varying to slight degrees. From left to right, they stood at attention in ascending order of armour, from the bare frame to the left, to the thickly armoured menace at the right. "The Colchester Frame was designed to be upgraded from the bottom up. The left most Knightmare Frame," He started, pointing at the bare frame, "is the base model of the Colchester, and possesses no weapon or armour of any kind. Upgrades are easily available in kits, and are incredibly easy to fit, providing the greatest versatility for any situation," The announcer explained as the four other frames were magnified on the screen, "The primary kits are the Dueller, Warfighter, Riot Control, and Special Operations," The images identified each one, tagging the frames with their kit designation, the Warfighter being the most heavily armoured and armed with a High Impact Shell Cannon, which I presumed as a bazooka, followed by the Riot Control variant armed with a KMF SMG and riot shield, then the Dueller with its Flechette Cannon, the shotgun-type weapon utilised in the demonstration and finally the Special Operations with the Anti-Knightmare Sniper, labelled the 'Longshot'. "However, this does not limit the customisation of the Colchester, as any and all parts from any kit are fully compatible with the standard frame and any other parts. New kits are consistently being developed, so need not worry if you do not favour any of the current combat kits."

The man continued to sell the machine to the other nobles, listing specifications on the machine, from its smoother operating system that allowed even lower ranked pilots to navigate the machine with extreme ease to the faster reaction speeds between the pilot's commands and the machine itself thanks to something the presenter labelled the 'Intuitive Movement Index'. Though some of the more conservative nobles were adamant in their refusal of the machine, most in the room were sold. I didn't bother listening to any more of what the presenter had to say; I'd already put in an order for enough Knightmares to completely swap out my entire personal force.

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_**Emperor Charles Z. Britannia, 98**__**th**__** Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire**_

_**August 24**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B**_

_**11:34AM**_

_**Imperial Palace, Emperor's Personal Workshop, Pendragon**_

I squared my broad shoulders as I gazed out upon the cloudy horizon, lit by the gentle orange hues of dusk. My royal purple waist coat flapped idly as the breeze softly brushed past me. The archaic platform I stood on ebbed with untold power, power yet to be tapped into. My hardened, square features softened ever so softly as the energy cascaded off me, tickling through my white hair. My exhaustion and frustration faded with every moment I stood here. My eye lids grew heavy, and I was more than happy to indulge the sensation. If someone were to ask to describe the setting about me, peaceful would be the most apt description. Oh how ironic, considering just what this device was designed for.

Any more musings of the such were quickly abandoned when the breeze shifted slightly, alerting me to the presence of another. My peripheral vision informed me all that I needed to know.

"What news do you bring, Bismarck?" I queried half-heartedly, not even deigning to turn to face him. I admit I was transfixed on the shifting cloudscape, the soothing power pulsing through the atmosphere.

"It is as you thought, you majesty. It would seem your exiled son, Lelouch vi Britannia has been hiding under the guise of a commoner school boy in Area Eleven. The Ashfords have been hosting him for the past five years. We have not been able to locate Princess Nunnally."

I sighed sadly as the shrine's energy stopped flowing, the fatigue setting into my bones once again. I turned and marched to the exit. "Was that all, Bismarck?" I asked behind me.

Bismarck, who was trailing just a few steps behind me, hesitated briefly. "It has been 2discovered the Lelouch was instrumental in the reestablishment of the Ashford Foundation, now known as Ashford Lamperouge Industrial."

"And?" I asked, standing at the control podium that would shut off the thought elevator.

"Ashford Lamperouge Industrial just beat out Royal Protectorate Industries for the distinction of being the Britannian Military's main arms manufacturer. The company has grown exponentially, subsuming all other competitors into the fold of the company. There are only a few other manufacturers left in Area Eleven that have not submitted to ALI."

I grinned as I toyed with the archaic controls, an ancient doorway embellished with an avian sigil sat looming, the behemoth doors parting for me. I stepped through, the pleasant, peaceful cloudscape replaced by the oppressive maze of technology of the imperial palace's inner sanctum, lit by artificial light, the faint hum of motors permeating the air. I frowned, but continued nonetheless. Bismarck passed through the door silently, keeping pace with me.

"Do you believe that he is scheming something?"

Once more, the Knight of One broke stride, considering the thought for a moment, before reluctantly answering. "Lelouch has always been known for his audacity and tenacity. The fact he survived the conflict in Area Eleven intact, let alone the fact that he forged a business conglomerate from the ashes of a disgraced family says much in his defence. He has always been much like yourself in that respect, my sire." He paused briefly, considering his words carefully.

A small chuckle came to my lips, Bismarck's words striking true. "Very well; I suppose it is time to bring my wayward son back into the fold."

I turned to him, my face set in grim satisfaction. "Send Monica Kruszewski to collect him. I want Lelouch in Pendragon before the end of the week."

Bismarck bowed deeply, the white cloak draped over his shoulder rustling in response to the rapid movement. "Yes, your majesty."

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_**Codename: Yaoling**_

_**August 24**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B**_

_**12:01AM**_

_**Imperial Palace, Security Database, Pendragon**_

I held my breath as I plunged into the room, the ventilation acting as my entrance. With a slick fluidity, the guards mounted at their desk were discarded to the floor, weapons strewn about them. Another guard at the door brought his weapon to bear on me, only to be halted in his stride as a blade lodged itself in his throat. He crumbled to the floor, blood pumping from his punctured throat with a decreasing rhythm, pooling around his navel in the loose folds of clothing. I retrieved the knife from my victim, wiping the blood away on the sleeve of the dead soldier and sheathing it.

Discarding any further distraction, I strode over to the multiple monitors on the opposite wall, USB in hand. Pulling up the seat of one of the unconscious victims, I began to work my way through the multitude of files stored in the database. My fingers flew across the keys, typing in one recovered password after another, breaching security one stroke at a time. As the last layer of protection fell, I rammed the USB into one of the many ports, the data extraction tools immediately tearing into the files with unrequited ferocity, the small device beaming up the data to an unregistered satellite and copying it all to a node somewhere in Japan. Or that's what I was told, at least.

As the device did its work, I worked on a small interactive pad that fit in the palm of my hand, finding my way back out. The ducts were no longer an option, too suspicious. That left the main halls, which were heavily guarded. I needed a path where few guards went, information not provided by my employer. I frowned, letting my arm fall to my side, pad in tow. A thought came to mind, and I dropped down to the dead officer. My small, childish hands ran along his corpse, searching for any obstruction. When my hands eventually snagged on a larger object, I ravenously tore through the clothing until the object came into view; another of the interactive pads.

I sighed in relief as I activated the palm-sized pad, the small screen displaying the movements of all the guards. I began to transfer the data onto my own device, doing my best to memorise the patterns; it was simple enough. As the download completed, I slipped the little thing into my belt, making sure it was turned off. Looking back at the monitors, I still had a few minutes before the USB finished extracting the data, leaving me just enough time to cover up the dead body.

Two minutes later, I was striding out of the room wearing an oversized uniform, my thumb playing with the detonator I had in hand. As I moved to a safe distance, I flicked the switch. An explosion erupted, and fire spewed from the room, lighting the dark corridor in a split second, the flames nearly licking at the two living guards I'd bothered to drag outside the room; making sure to leave behind some evidence of wrongdoing. I don't know about most places, but drinking on the job and causing a gas explosion were generally not looked too kindly upon.

Nearby guards began to yell as they scrambled to investigate the explosion. I ducked into the shadows, hiding away from the distracted gaze of the soldiers. I may be wearing a disguise, but that was no excuse to go sauntering through the halls without a care.

It was nearly a full hour later –mostly thanks to having to evade the guards all throughout the Imperial Palace grounds- as I ducked into the old dungeon, a part of the palace most guests weren't aware still existed. According to my maps, there was a broken down sewage pipe that led straight into an abandoned treatment complex way outside the city. Why they hadn't already destroyed these security breaches, I don't know; perhaps they are an escape route for the royalty. The dungeon was filthy, the walls –all cobblestone- cracked and dusty. Rotten wood hung overhead, threatening to give way at the smallest provocation. The air was damp and mouldy, and I fought the urge to cough as the musty, untouched air filtered into my throat. The faint sounds of scurrying could be heard as the feral rodents scampered to their hidey holes. A typical, dingy dungeon.

I stalked down the stairs, my stance relaxing slightly. I slipped my knife back into its sheath, my fingers instead playing with the fine sidearm holster at my hip. There shouldn't be any guards in here, but it never hurts to be weary when behind enemy lines. The stairway descended deeper into the depths of the palace ground, the moist air chilling me to my bones. The loose uniform I wore shuffled uncomfortably, clinging to my damp, smooth skin. Goosebumps formed on the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine in forewarning; something was wrong.

As the corridor opened up, I was affronted with the sight of a burly, pale man, filled out with muscle and wrapped in an immaculate, white suit, trimmed with gold. Upon his shoulder rested a deep blue cape, golden swirls wrapping along the navy surface. His heavy set features were laced with light wrinkles, his chin and head dusted with stubble. Turquoise eyes stared intently at the mouth of the staircase, the threat of death poorly concealed. A maroon longsword, the thick blade easily a metre long, rested in his left hand, the jewels encrusting the surface gleaming in the dim light. I continued down cautiously, knowing he'd already spotted me. My knuckles were white as my grip tightened on the pistol hanging from my hip.

"I am glad you had the sense to come out into the open; a game of hide and seek would have been a waste of both our time." He started, moving towards me, the intimidating weapon scraping along the ground. "To think that a mere child –not yet even a teenager- managed to break into the highest security facility in the world; you nearly got away with it, too."

I merely grunted in acknowledgement, my hand still toying with the pistol at my side.

"You know who I am, don't you boy?" He queried, drawing even closer now.

I shrugged, diverting my eyes in disinterest as the distance shortened further. He frowned at my apparent lack of interest

"I am Nicholas Desoe, Knight of Seven. I am here to arrest you for the murder of Jack Lawson, Officer of the Royal Guard, as well as the illicit copy of classified documents."

His weapon was nearly in reach now. I looked about in feigned confusion, pretending to not have a clue what the man was talking about. Incensed by my ignorance, he lunged at me, the large weapon sweeping in a perfect arc, decapitation imminent. I ducked under the blade, drawing my pistol and taking aim at his chest. As I pulled the trigger, his body contorted, the bullet missing him completely. Taking advantage of his momentum, he swivelled on the balls of his feet, the blade cleaving straight through the gun in my hand.

I jumped back, the maroon weapon narrowly missing my hand. The knight continued his assault, charging me again with the broad weapon. I ducked to the side as he took a diagonal swing, the massive force slashed mere centimetres away from my face. With a flick of my wrist, a throwing knife went slicing through the air, only to be knocked aside by the burly knight's weapon.

Taking the initiative, I charged forward myself, striding within the effective range of the weapon. The knight stumbled slightly, unsure how to deal with me within his perimeter; obviously a believer in a strong offense. With slick agility, I retrieved a long dagger strung under my arm, plunging the weapon into his thick left bicep. He growled in pain, grabbing at my neck with his massive right hand. I barely dodged out of the way, ducking under his arm, running the sharp blade along his calf and up his back as I appeared behind him. Roaring in pain, he swung the weapon overhead, spinning around and bringing it down where I had been, only for me to dive backwards in evasion. As I rolled back to my feet, I found myself nose to nose with the brutish knight, the blood leaking heavily from his moderate wounds. His large right hand knocked my dagger from my hand, while his left formed a death grip around my neck, lifting me from the ground.

My neck and jaw screeched in agony, my lungs crying for oxygen. I gurgled for air, only for him to tighten his grip. With a scowl, the man tore a large combat knife from a holster on his belt, bringing it to bear on my stomach.

"I would have preferred to take you in alive, but your blatant disrespect for those you slew has forced my hand."

I brought my knee up, sinking the bone into his rib cage with enough force to snap a rib. As he growled in pain, I tore the hunting knife from his hand and ravenously stabbed at his arm thrice, causing him to drop me. I rolled to my feet and brought myself back around, his howls of pain ringing in the shallow halls. I took a deep breath to recover myself, pain shooting through my neck as I gasped for air. The knight of seven seemed to have recovered, and now clung onto his longsword with his right hand, his left arm completely incapacitated now. I watched him intently as he approached me, my fingers toying with a thin metal cable hidden within my sleeve, hooking the clasp at the end onto the length of the cable. He stumbled forward, fury cascading off his body. My breath caught in my throat.

A blood-curling roar escaped his lips as he lunged again, the maroon blade cleaving through the air. I leapt at the last second, launching myself up and onto the blade itself, before bouncing onto his shoulder as quickly as I could. The cable fell from my sleeve, the metallic lasso slipping under his chin. With one final, massive bound, I was launched into the air. I plummeted through the air, the cable trailing behind me, up and over one of the rotten braces. I began to drop, the cable pulling taut in my hands, yanking my arm painfully as the Knight was violently torn from the surly bonds of earth.

The strain was too much; I knew that immediately. Without a second of warning, the cable snapped with an impressive crack, shredding the skin on my arm with ease, causing the two of us to drop to the floor with a massive thud. The wood overhead snapped, letting a portion of the roof collapse with us. I lay on my back for a moment, panting heavily as I massaged my right shoulder, trying to dissipate the pain from being nearly dislocated. My heart stopped in my chest as I heard gurgling. I raised my head slowly, fighting through the rubble, fear clenching at my insides. Eventually my eyes laid upon the Knight of Seven as he grasped at his throat, blood drenched all through his white tunic. He gasped desperately, only to choke on the blood.

I crawled over to him, over the crumbled rock and wood, his combat knife gripped tightly in my hand. I brought myself up to him, remorse flitting through my system.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, the knife slicing through the soft flesh of his neck with ease and killing him instantly.

I brought myself up and dusted myself off. Blood soaked the sleeve of the uniform, staining the plain grey outfit, something I'd have to deal with as I came out the other side.

I was halted in my place as the stairway creaked. Emerging from the shadows, two figures marched, both clad in pure white suits, capes draped on their shoulders. The first to arise from the shadows was a svelte woman, her black hair tied neatly in a pony-tail, a scowl prominently etched onto her dark features. Standing just behind her was a well-built powerhouse of a man, his dark skin contrasting with his white and gold uniform. His left eye remained shut, but his right observed me intently.

"An impressive display; it is not often a knight of the round is felled in battle, even less common for the victor to be a mere child. You are no doubt a warrior, worthy of respect" The man spoke, his rich baritone filling the air. I held my tongue in response, levelling the combat knife at him instead. He frowned, his hand falling down to the sword at his hip. "Please discard your weapon and turn yourself in. You may have been able to best a knight of the rounds, but you are injured and drained now. Even if, through some miracle, you were able to best me and Duchess Ernst, there is a small army of elite guard waiting to apprehend you both here and at the pumping station you would use to escape. You would not be able to fight your way through all of them in your current state."

Duchess Ernst only snorted derisively, obviously not agreeing with the Knight of One's respectful approach; I couldn't help but to agree with her. Even as he spoke, I found my willpower draining. My thoughts were becoming hazy. Blood was flowing heavily from my wounds, dripping onto the floor with a rhythmic splash. My vision was blurring over.

The thick-bodied knife clattered to the floor. I bowed my head, bringing my wrists together in front of me. I was no warrior, not some magnificent soul pledged to a code. I had no creed telling me to engage in do or die resistance. To these people, I was nothing more than an assassin, and assassins were selfish beings. There was nothing I would do to redeem such an image, so why not play along? Die here, or live to fight another day, no?

"Very well." I muttered, the cold, hard metal cuffs were slammed around my wrists, digging into the torn flesh painfully. Looking up, I found myself staring into the blaring, vengeful eyes of Duchess Ernst. It was then I knew.

No matter what I did, she would make sure that I died for my transgressions. I didn't bother to mention that she would have to catch me first.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX  
_**Lelouch Lamperouge**_

_**August 24**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**11:51AM**_

_**Benegorde Manor, Tokyo Settlement**_

My long, spindly fingers wrapped delicately around the smooth, black granite piece, the beautifully defined curves and notches gently digging into my flesh. My face showed no semblance of emotion as I slid the piece forward, knocking down the intricately crafted counterpart to my piece over with a swift motion. My deep violet eyes bore into my competitor, watching as his chubby features contorted, warping from bemusement to terror. The white queen toppled; her beautiful ivory body crashed to the ground with a resounding thud. Horror seeped onto the insipid noble's façade, breaking any semblance of the cool, arrogant CEO that had boasted his tactical prowess, nor the blustering duke who had been willing to bet his inheritance against the aloof school boy who'd had the misfortune to stumble into his halls for a game. No, all that was left in front of me was a broken man, stripped of what dignity he had and left under the callous and judgemental eyes of his peers whom he'd invited to watch.

"Checkmate," I called. Lords and ladies, all benefactors of the man before me, began to whisper amongst themselves, desperately trying to comprehend the situation before them. The tycoon bowed his head, horror being replaced by grief. Pushing my advantage, I leaned over to where Rivalz was seated, grabbing the folder from his grasp as he stared dumbfounded at the immaculate board seated on the table. I went through the documents in the folder with abundant nonchalance, making carefully sure to take my time. Sometimes victory on the field was not enough to ensure true victory; humiliation was what was needed to succeed against these particular foes. Securing the document I'd been after –and had brushed past a few times for extra measure- I handed it to the tycoon.

"As per the contract signed prior to starting this game, you must sign over Benegorde Munitions and all assets pertaining to the company and benefactors of the company to Ashford Lamperouge Industrial," Angry hisses passed through the crowd. No doubt they were upset to find that the detestable man had not only gambled with his future, but theirs as well. I kept my bored façade in place as the pen scratched into the paper, leaving its inky mark, the dejection evident in the man's stroke. As his chubby hand loosened its grip on the pen, I stood in my place, extending my own hand in courtesy. "A pleasure doing business, Lord Benegorde," When the man made no move to accept my hand I shrugged, retracting it and instead gathered all of the documents and reinserted them in their binder.

With nothing more than a nod of my head, I took my leave. Rivalz remained rooted to the ground, his eyes blatantly betraying his shock. I strolled past him, hands in my pockets with the file neatly tucked under my arm, no haste to my actions. "Come along, Rivalz. We'd best get back to the academy. Milly will have my head if we're late to another meeting," I joked, smiling politely. The blue haired boy shook himself out of his stupor, turning and running to catch up to me. We continued walking for a brief period before Rivalz gave a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his head anxiously.

"Damn, buddy; you were completely ruthless in there. That noble didn't even stand a chance,"

I nodded as I watched him from my peripheral. "Yes; it was hardly any competition," I sighed in agreement, "In all honesty, it is becoming tiring have to deal with these self-obsessed, conceited nobility. They never put up much of a fight."

Rivalz anxiety seemed double in that second, his eyes widening in fear, "That's dangerously close to slander, buddy. You sure it's safe to be saying that sort of thing around here?"

I waved off his concern, waltzing out the massive arch doorway as the heavy oak door was held open for me by the manservant. "He has no way to tell the authorities. If he were to report us, he would be interrogated as to why there were two Britannian students at their house during school hours. No matter your title, receiving charges of misconduct with minors doesn't sit well in most social groups,"

A sly grin took its place on Rivalz face, and he gave me a knowing wink, "Oh, I see! Very sneaky!"

I gave a small grunt of acknowledgement as I reached my friends motorcycle, gracefully flopping into the side cart. I opened up the small glove box and stowed the documents, retrieving my book in its stead. I felt the slight shift as Rivalz took his place on the bike; with a twist of the key, the bike begun to purr, the chassis humming in vibration, and we were off. The breeze brushed the hair shaggy black hair that slipped through my helmet as Rivalz zipped down the highway. I flipped the hardback novel in my hand to my previous position, reading through it with vigour. This continued for a few more moments before I heard Rivalz clear his throat.

"Hey, Lelouch?"

"Yes?"

"If you find the nobility so easy to beat, why don't you give them a handicap or something?" He queried, watching me curiously. I flipped the page of my book, considering the question for a moment.

"Because when dealing with not only your own future, but others as well, you should always work to the best of your ability; underestimating the enemy is a sure way to lose everything. Lord Benegorde underestimated me because I was only a student, and now his company now belongs to Mister Ashford," I answered, my attention still drawn to the philosophy in my hands

"Huh, I guess that makes a lot of sense," Rivalz remained quiet for a moment more, before turning to me with an ear splitting grin, "I still can't believe that Mister Ashford uses you as his 'business associate'; talk about high stakes gambling! I don't know anybody else who can buy entire companies without a single cent,"

I smiled at his comment, bringing my eyes up from the book. "It's certainly more thrilling that way, don't you think?"

Rivalz nodded vigorously in agreement, returning his attention to the road ahead. "It's definitely the coolest job I know. You basically have the power to make entire business empires crumble and rise at will, and nobody knows you're even there! Like some kind of hidden mastermind pulling the strings!" He exclaimed jovially, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration don't you think? I'm just Mister Ashford's consultant for when he is too busy to manage his rising empire and his school at the same time, after all."

"Geez, so humble; who'd have ever thought you wouldn't immediately jump at the chance to boost your ego?" He snickered, sporting a crooked grin.

I rolled my eyes, reverting my attention back to the book in my hand. "Yes, well, even god-like beings such as I need to be humble sometimes, lest our heads get too big and explode," I replied sardonically, letting the cool, dry sarcasm drip from my words. Rivalz just burst out in laughter, not able to form another coherent sentence for the rest of the journey home.

Rivalz motorcycle pulled into the immaculate courtyard of the Ashford Academy, dropping me off at the main hall of the administration building. Making sure that the documents were tucked firmly under my arm, I strolled into the admin complex. The beautiful granite floors gleamed as the light shone through the immaculate steel doors, shining onto the pale yellow walls. I strode forward with measured steps, file still tucked tightly under my arm. I flashed a polite smile to the receptionist, who returned the gesture in kind. "Is Mister Ashford here?" I queried. The receptionist gave a small nod, "I'll inform him that you are here,"

The wait was short before the inordinately decorated door to my side bellowed open. I watched on as an imposing figure, easily taller and wider than myself came out of the door. He had neatly trimmed golden hair, speckled with grey. His wide grin was obscured behind an equally blonde beard. "Ah, Lelouch my boy! Come in," He greeted, gesturing with his broad hand to the interior of his office. Nodding in respect, I followed his direction and moved into his office.

The room itself was, for lack of a better word, gaudy. Beautiful birch bookcases lined the walls, their shelves piled up with intricately designed finery. Golden awards hung from the red velvet walls, the light from the massive window in the back of the room causing the trophies and plates to glitter. I took my seat behind the massive desk, piled high with documents and fine stationary. The door closed behind me with a soft click, the heavy steps of Mister Ashford sounding as he approached his desk. "So how have you been Lelouch? I trust things have been well?" He asked as he moved around the heavy wooden desk.

I grinned as he took his seat, placing the file on top of his desk. "Things have been well. I'm sure you're already aware of my grades and outside of that there is very little to report." I replied nonchalantly.

Reuben gave a small frown at this, tapping his large finger onto the table. "Yes, I am completely aware of your grades," He gave a sigh before the smile returned to his face; "though I'm sure you aren't here to be berated for not achieving to your potential."

I chuckled slightly, crossing my legs and resting my chin on my hands. "Not if I can help it, Reuben."

The man let out a mighty bellow, clutching his chest. When he finally calmed down, we continued on, he handing me a document of some form. "This is the report of the last fiscal year,"

I briefly examined the document, taking note of the many expenses and revenues. As I'd predicted, the military products had sold phenomenally, as per usual, with our new mass production Colchester Knightmare Frames selling above all else, followed closely by Dueller Variant kits. My eyes drifted down to the bottom of the document, and I felt myself recoil in the slightest, shocked at just how much was displayed

"That was my reaction as well," I heard Reuben say, his voice easily betraying the smile on his lips. The sheer amount of money was astounding, even by my standards. "It seems that Pendragon Headquarters has gained the favour of the military. We already have an order for several thousand top of the line Colchester Class Knightmares. I still can't believe we beat out Lord Helmi and his Gloucesters. Those certainly had some guts to them,"

Discarding the report onto Reuben's desk, I retook my former position. "Please, Reuben. You know as well as I that the Colchester out-specced the Gloucester easily. They provided smoother movements, faster reaction time, and were more easily adaptable to terrain and battle conditions for only slightly more than a Sutherland. The fact we used ceramics and plastics instead of the standard metal plating like Lord Helmi insisted only worked in our favour. You should have more faith in the R&D departments, they know what they are doing,"

"I'd assumed that the R&D department was only exaggerating to make sure that they continued to receive funding," He jested, reclaiming the report and filing it away within his mountain of paperwork and turning to me, "So what did you bring for me today?"

I could feel my mouth twisting into a twisted, malicious smirk as I pushed the file containing Benegorde's submission, "Our recent victory,"

"I can't believe you actually managed to convince Benegorde Munitions to sell out! They were the one of the largest arms manufacturer in Japan." Reuben exploded excitedly, tearing through the file with voracity.

"I'm sure their factories will help produce the Colchester frames and components even faster." I replied, picking up the latest report from the R&D, labelled Project Firestorm; indulging their inner geek, I suppose. Reuben was still far to enamoured with the official submission to notice as I started to flick through it, making a mental note to investigate their current progress.

"And thanks to your business deal with the Mount Fuji mines and the Central Oceanic Wasteland, we have all the resources we need to completely reequip the half the world's military if we really wanted,"

"Perhaps that's the plan," I jeered with a wink, Reuben laughing it off as mere jest, completely unaware of the grains of truth in the statement. "I'll be heading over to the Tokyo Headquarters this evening to introduce the new engineers and scientists Benegorde was kind enough to donate, as well as inspect their current progress,"

"You are certainly collecting a selection of the best and brightest in the world; I'm just curious what you will do with them when you have more than even _In Vogue_," Reuben stated, leaning back into his chair comfortably. His jovial façade began to slip as he thought for a moment. "That being said, I am still uncertain whether or not you are mad in suggesting a fellow student and member of the Student Council for a position in the top research team."

"Nina is one of the most brilliant minds of this generation. When she is not working on harnessing the power of the Sakuradite molecule, she is troubleshooting the new technology for our Knightmares. She will be an invaluable asset to the team."

Reuben sighed, jumping out of his chair and moving over to the immaculate wooden cupboard, whipping out a bottle of aged bourbon and a chilled glass. "You have more than made your case, Lelouch. I have no argument that can withstand any of your rebuttals. I'm just not sure that subjecting the girl to the harsh and competitive world of Knightmare development would be the best idea." He poured himself a glass and hesitated for a moment, turning to face me once more, "Drink?"

I shook my head politely, remaining firmly in place, "No thank you."

Reuben took a sip from his drink and swilled the contents within the crystalline cup briefly before moving back to his glossed, wooden chair. "Are you sure it is a good decision to subject that girl to that sort of environment, especially considering her rather rough history?"

"Yes, we are all aware of her rather fragile condition, though I believe firmly that it will increase her wellbeing being around scientists of the same calibre as her. As for the fact that our company believes in equal employment opportunities, who knows; the boost to her self-esteem and familiarisation with locals not intent on finding a hole to defile may even provide her with a more worldly perspective,"

"Or it could break her to even have to be around them," Reuben rebutted, obviously still not convinced. "Very well, Lelouch; I'll send her the recruitment forms tomorrow. I'll leave it up to you to make sure that the workplace remains hospitable."

"Of course; I am your liaison after all."

The course ringing of bells sounded the end of my free period, a fact that did not escape the burly, refined man ahead of me. He gave a jovial smile,

"Come along, Lelouch. I doubt my granddaughter will be pleased if you show up late to another meeting, especially if it was to talk business with me." He stood up, extending his hand in the same practised motions he used on the businessmen he dealt with. Taking his hand in a shake, I retrieved the files documenting Benegorde Munitions amalgamation with ALI, tucking them under my arm as well as those of 'Project Firestorm'.

I halted briefly, considering for a moment, before asking in hushed tones. "How is Nunnally?"

A look of feigned confusion passed over his face, a knowing glint to his eyes. "Nunnally? I don't know anything about a 'Nunnally'. Are you asking about my niece, Natalie?"

I gave him a blank stare, making obvious my displeasure at the little game. "Yes, _Natalie_; is she doing well?"

"Perhaps you should go ask her yourself? I'm sure she'd love to see you."

A frown permeated my features at the prod. "You know as well as I that I am putting myself at risk even helping your company," I paused briefly, averting my gaze, "I couldn't possibly risk her as well."

A massive hand clapped onto my shoulder, almost knocking me down. I turned, and found myself staring into dark, navy eyes. "You sure are acting protective of someone who is nothing more than a mere friend,"

He then let me go, and pushed me out the door polite, grin held impeccably on his face. "You'd best hurry, Lelouch. Not even I would be willing to risk Milly's wrath."

I strode out of the immaculate room and through the intricate halls, Reuben's words settling into my mind. The message itself was clear; I'd already hidden her, cutting her off wouldn't help her situation. No, what surprised me was the man's acting. Perhaps Milly took more after her grandfather than she would like to admit.

I exited the building and began to head for the Club House. It was of little surprise to find the activities were already in full swing, masses of people flowing back and forth throughout the expansive ground of the academy. Horses from the equestrian club hurdled over fences extravagantly. Boys and girls shuffled along the ground, delicately cultivating new plants within the lush soil. The yells and groans sounded over the campus, signifying yet another game of Rugby on the beautifully trimmed fields. Sparkles of light and crisp snaps and pops of fireworks filled the air. Just another day at Ashford Academy, I mused.

I quickly climbed the stairs to my residence, pushing the large wooden doors open gently. I sauntered up the stairs, paying no heed to the raucous, jovial commands of our 'president'; more like tyrant, I joked. I continued past the meeting room where Milly and the student council held their meetings, taking advantage of her distraction –teasing Shirley as she complained about my gambling; poor girl to be subjected to such wrath- and instead moving to my private quarters. As the door softly clicked behind me, I let out a massive sigh. No noise came from the many rooms of the apartment, and nobody came to view.

"Sayoko?" I called; one can never be too sure with ninjas, after all. No reply came.

Taking advantage of my isolation, I made my way to the bathroom. The dim lighting cast a welcoming glow off the pale cream walls, the gentle touch of mahogany granting an air of sophistication. My shoes clacked inaudibly on the granite tiles of the floor, the smooth surface glistening beneath my feet. I brushed past the other utilities within the spacious room, opting instead to focus on the vanity. Setting the file in my hand down beside the basin, I opened the cupboard underneath to reveal a plethora of lusciously scented soaps, bath salts, and other such items. My hand found the bottle I was after, the small keyhole in the top giving it away. I flipped it on its side and pushing it into the back of the vanity with a soft hiss before reaching into my breast pocket and withdrawing a key.

Slipping the key into its hole and turning produced a soft hiss that coursed through the wall, the grinding of gears and cogs punctuating the air. The wall, and the vanity in turn, depressed into the wall slowly before shifting to the right. A doorway now stood open to me, and I strode through it, file in hand once more. As I crossed the threshold of the room, the pseudo-door shut behind me. I was now ensconced in darkness, the familiar setting around me calming any of my frayed nerves despite the lack of any light. After groping on the wall for a moment, the lights came on.

The room itself was rather compact, bearing no decorations or aesthetics of any kind. The dull white, almost grey walls melded with the rows steel grey filing cabinets that took up the walls to either side of me, giving a somewhat oppressive feel to the room. Just ahead was a steel chair under a steel desk, the only things sitting atop the plain surface being a monitor with inbuilt camera and a starkly contrasting cream file, placed there by Sayoko; the kunai holding it in place being a clear indicator. After I deposited the file in my hand into one of the cabinets marked 'business', I moved over and took my place at the desk, discarding the kunai and reading the documents in the file.

'_Nathaniel Statdfeld/ Naoto Kozuki' _

Clipped to the top of the file were two pictures of young man with brilliant cerulean eyes and dull red hair draped and framing his face. He wore a classic tuxedo in the first image, laughing jovially with one of the many noblewomen at one of Clovis' many formal gatherings, a certain hollowness creeping from his eyes. The second image was nearly a direct contrast, with him wearing ragged, torn clothing and a red headband, his scowl permeating the air with distaste as he marched through the torn ghettos, handing out food and water with a fire in his eyes. Tearing my eyes from the photos of the compelling man, I began to browse over the dossier. He was certainly an interesting individual. His father, the great Earl Statdfeld, had married to a noble woman to hide his disgrace at having an affair with a Number but was now hiding in the Homeland to avoid her. His actual mother –a young Japanese woman- was subjugated by the Britannian rule and forced into servitude. His sister and he were forced to hide her heritage in order to survive. He was compelling, able to gather support amongst the Shinjuku Ghetto for his aid to the sickly and poor of the horrid place, as well as his defence of the people against abusive officers straying too far from their post. Not only that, but he had contacts within the nobility. All in all, exactly what a revolution needed.

I switched on the monitor, revealing nothing more than a standard desktop with a few files regarding ALI in the icons. I retrieved a small USB from my pocket and inserted it into the side of the monitor. When I finished inputting my password a second time, a feral grin crept onto my face. Within seconds, a video feed popped onto the screen, revealing a very old, very familiar Japanese man.

"Good afternoon, Mister Kirihara. I hope I am not imposing?" I queried diplomatically, receiving a cocked eyebrow from the man.

"There is no need for you to try and play me, Mister Lamperouge. Cut the formality and tell what you want me to do." He mocked in turn, and I couldn't help but chuckle slightly.

"Straight to the point, as always, neh _Taizo-san_," I jeered, and was rewarded by a roll of the eyes from the elderly man, "But you are correct. I have called to inform you that I will be emailing the dossier of a potential 'associate' I am interested in hiring."

Kirihara frowned prominently in turn, his beady eyes staring me down, "It seems your arrogance has just escalated another echelon, Mister Lamperouge. You have no say in who Kyoto do and do not support,"

Realising that Kirihara, and by extension Kyoto, were not going to kneel to force, I changed tact, my cunning and ruthless façade shifting a more neutral and disinterested one. "I am well aware of that, Mister Kirihara. However, I think he will be a valuable asset in the future," I proposed nonchalantly, tempting him with yet another toy.

Kirihara cocked his eyebrow, scepticism evident within his wrinkly features, though an almost undiscernible gleam of interest lit his dark eyes. "And how do you propose they will help our resistance?"

"At the very least he can act as a recruitment officer. Despite the smallness of his group, he has managed to garner the support of the Shinjuku Ghetto. Given the chance, he could gain the support of the rest of the outlying ghettos," I explained casually, finding a pen to twiddle absent-mindedly, "However, he is also the half-breed son of Earl Statdfeld, one of the few businessmen with links to Japan not in my pocket."

"Very well, Mister Lamperouge; I will review these personnel reports," Kirihara answered dismissively, his dark, beady eyes finding something else more interesting to occupy himself with, "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, in fact. I would like a progress report on the schematics I'd sent to Miss Chawla to revise. I will be heading to ALI Foundry this afternoon."

He shuffled for a moment, toying with the computer in front of him. "She resubmitted the schematics just this morning, not without complaining about none of the devices were working properly. I had taken the liberty of reading them, but I am afraid I don't understand advanced particle physics. What even is the purpose of these devices you have her working on?"

A knowing grin stretched across my face, "You'll have to wait and see, Mister Kirihara. The details of the Gefjun project would be lost on most; even I have difficulty understanding the theory behind it. But rest assured, as it will undoubtedly give whoever uses it a distinct advantage in Knightmare Combat."

"So then is it truly wise for you to bring these schematics back to a Britannian company?" Kirihara queried concernedly.

"You seem to forget, Taizo; the company, while formally belonging to Mister Ashford, is under my direct control," I reminded, receiving a small nod of concession from the man. "Besides trading the technology between our engineers has advanced their production by several years. Without ALI, your technology would still be lagging behind the Britannians; you would probably still be outfitting those Glasgow rip-offs."

"I suppose that is true. Though the Burai's certainly had a certain charm to them," Kirihara paused for a moment, looking over the screen and having a brief conversation with some unknown party. When he turned back to me, a vicious glint of joy was more than prevalent in his decrepit features. "I am now looking on the report of the latest JLF engagement. You'll be pleased to hear that they were successfully able to both destroy the Hyogo Military Base as well as commandeer several Imperial Sutherlands. Most of the other members of Kyoto are a little upset that you had made the right choice in attacking the base when you said to."

"Yes, well, Kyoto are businessmen first and foremost. Military strategy is not their strongest suit," I replied, "They should just accept that and allow me to do my part."

Kirihara scoffed slightly in response, "They don't like that a _Britannian_ is commanding their forces,"

I rolled my eyes, still fiddling with the pen, "If they showed an inkling towards strategic command, I wouldn't be forced to take on the role as a petty 'informant'."

"Don't misunderstand, Lelouch. I have known you since before the war. You have always had a knack for the finer points of strategy. They, on the other hand, only see you as a spoilt boy trying to play war."

"Oh? And someone doesn't think that?" I retorted, haughty smirk playing at my lips.

Kirihara smirked slightly in response. "No, I believe that you are the best chance this resistance has. Were it not for you, I have no doubt that the JLF would be nothing more than a rabble of desperate soldiers driven to terrorism,"

"I only act as an informant, Taizo,"

"But you are the one directing the flow of these battles; all the soldiers know that. Besides, I have no doubt that you will take up the mantle of commander sometime in the near future." He paused for a second, frown settling onto his aging face. "On the topic of informants, I have just received word that OSI agents have been snooping about Tokyo lately,"

My reaction mimicked his own, and I toyed with the pen once more. "Yes, Sayako noticed some strange men wandering about campus lately. I'll have her follow one of them and identify their objective."

"You had best be careful, rogue prince. Despite what the other members might say, you, and ALI by extension, have proved invaluable in our resistance,"

"You needn't worry about such matters, Taizo. The only evidence of my transactions with Kyoto are safely stored in this room, and there are contingencies in place to make sure that they never fall into hands other than mine or Sayako's."

"For your sake as well as mine, I hope that you are corr-"

When I heard the door to my room slam open, I habitually jumped from my seat and moved my body to cover the screen. The faintest sounds of a certain buxom blonde president came seeping through and into my sanctum as she called out for me, a testament to the strength of her voice considering how soundproofed this particular sanctum was. No doubt Rivalz was back and had told them I was as well. I spun back around, facing the elderly man once more "I am afraid I have to go. Send my regards to the other members of Kyoto," I politely explained before hastily cutting off the video feed.

Milly's voice grew louder as she began to trample her way through the room. I inwardly ran through my options; I could just sit in here and wait for the whole thing to blow over? No, she was too damn persistent. She'd tear apart the entire building searching for me. Leaving now would mean I would be dragged into whatever it was she was planning. That was a possibility, though not preferable. It may also reveal this room to her; unacceptable. I could wait for her to leave the room in search of me elsewhere. No, it would take too long, and the risk of being caught too high.

A plan came to mind, and I shifted towards the door. With deft hands, I removed my jacket and ruffled my appearance. Inserting the key and twisting, the gears began to whir once more. As soon as a gap opened, I slipped through into my bathroom, the sensors picking up my movement and halting the door in its place. I untucked my shirt, and made sure to look properly dishevelled, black streaks marked on my clothes from the door. By the sounds of things, Milly had heard the door, as she now came stomping over to the bathroom. The door slid shut finally, and I leant down into the vanity, pretending to busy myself with the pipes underneath.

With an almost earth shattering slam, the door to the bathroom flew open, a tall, curvy blonde standing in the doorway wearing a cheeky grin.

After awkwardly explaining to Milly, Rivalz and Shirley (who'd all tagged along) as to what I was doing and what had caused the sound –supposedly, I'd come to wash myself off when I found the basin wasn't working, and had attempted fix it when I knocked something, causing the ominous sound- I was ushered forcefully into the student council room, Rivalz and Shirley in tow.

"Hello Lelouch! How are you today?" Came the bubbly voice of a young red-head, dressed in the standard pink dress of the middle school, standing at the side of the bookcase. She smiled gently, her eyes shut in a painfully permanent manner that tore at my heart. To her right stood the ever vigilant Sayako, the Japanese maid tasked to caring for her in her blinded state. Obviously, she'd heard me talking to Milly, else she wouldn't even know who was standing in the door. With every step she took, a faint whir sounded, the medical exoskeleton attached to her thin legs keeping her upright. Eventually, with the help of Sayako guiding her, she made her way over to the desk again, braille book held tightly in her thin hands.

"Ah, hello Natalie; I trust all is well?"

She gave a vibrant nod, her gentle smile growing larger. "Yes, everything is going well. Nina was just telling me about the work you and her are doing!"

I couldn't help but mirror her expression. Her sweet naivety had a soothing quality, and only worked to break any façade of displeasure. I turned to Nina, smiling as the shy girl ducked away from the lime light.

"Nina has been an invaluable asset in troubleshooting the problems with the frames." I reaffirmed gently, attempting to coax the woman out of her shell. "Without her brilliant mind, I am sure that we'd still be stuck trying to get the roller-ball landspinners working."

Nina flushed at the comment, eyes averting from my own. "That's not true. I wasn't very helpful. Lelouch was the one that actually identified the problems."

"Don't be silly Nina, you were much more valuable than that. I even heard Mister Ashford considering recruiting you for his research team."

Natalie jumped at that, pleasant surprise on her face, turning to Nina with a warm smile. "Wow, Nina; That's amazing!"

Nina flushed in embarrassment, trying to shrink into the background as Shirley and Rivalz began to admonish the poor girl. I instead chose to give her my most encouraging smile, which seemed to give her some strength at least.

Further commiseration was interrupted as a familiar thud sounded, drawing all of our attention towards the massive stack of papers Milly was hovering over, grinning maniacally. Everyone sighed as they moved over to the table, myself included. As we sifted through the mountain of budget requests, I spotted Nina giving me a brief smile of thanks. With the briefest nod of acknowledgement, I feigned ignorance as I balanced the budget, joking with Rivalz and Shirley at my own expense as the hours droned by.

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_**Doctor Katsumi Takahashi, Head of Research and Development**_

_**August 24**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**8:12PM**_

_**Ashford/Lamperouge Industrial Research Complex, 20 miles outside of the Tokyo Settlement**_

I hurried my way through the flow of people, knocking my way into the many scientists travelling in the opposite direction to me. I passed by with a torrent of hasty apologies spewing from my lips. Everyone else seemed to ignore me as I made my way through, which was good enough for me. We really needed more facilities spread elsewhere, because this was just getting ridiculous. Having this many scientists and engineers in one facility, no matter how large, was just asking for an accident.

I exited the main entrance, the cool night air sending shivers down my back. I wrapped my lab coat around my body, warding off the cold. I strode across the immaculate courtyard of **ALI**R&D, the finely trimmed hedges and flora and consistently flowing fountains and man-made waterfalls provided a scene of tranquillity. The wind stirred soft moans from the exotically beautiful naturalesque scenery, the calm of the night touching this very specific spot of earth. The moonlight faintly lit the grounds, the only thing besides the ever-lasting flames to give light to the natural beauty. Soft, flickering orange melded with stable silver-white light in a captivating dance displayed across the lush grass of the courtyard. When I'd asked Mister Ashford why he'd put so much effort and money into the courtyard, he had chuckled. _"Where else will you go to relax and just think?" _He'd responded.

I arrived at the main gates of the facility, passing through the security checkpoint. To my dismay, Mister Lamperouge was already waiting for me at the front gate, his familiar distant gaze set onto the massive forest we sat across from. His attire was nothing fancy or immaculate; only a pair of grey slacks and a white, long sleeved shirt.

"My apologies Mister Lamperouge, sir; I wasn't aware that you were arriving so soon." I hastily apologised, only for the boy to brush it off with a dismissive wave.

"Neither was I, so no harm done." He brought himself up and levelled himself with me. "So shall we head off to examine the work of our impressive array of scientists?"

I directed Mister Lamperouge to the entrance, and we made our way back into the facility at a relaxed pace. He, as usual, held himself with regal poise, his very presence eliciting feelings of respect he'd never asked for. As we passed into the threshold of the facility, it was as if a huge breath was taken. The current of scientists and engineers parted for the boy as he marched onwards, granting the boy an almost imperceptible nod, which he actually bothered to return, regardless of heritage. I hung by his side, guiding him as much as using him to fend off the waves of researchers.

"I trust that you have read the status reports?" I queried, to which the teenage tycoon nodded.

"Yes; I am quite pleased with the results produced, Takahashi-san. I have come to examine your work firsthand."

I grinned, directing him down another hallway. "Of course, Mister Lamperouge; please follow me. I believe that Professor Samson is preparing to test 'Project Firestorm' any minute."

It was a brief journey that took us to an overhead observation deck with a polarised screen. Mister Lamperouge immediately made himself comfortable in one of the many cushioned seats lining the deck. We watched on as my colleague, Professor Samson, tampered with a relatively small device bolted to a podium at one side of the room, aimed at a solid two foot thick steel target at the other side of the room. As soon as he was done he hurried out of the otherwise plain room, sealing the door behind him and watching on from his own observation deck.

"Starting 'Project Firestorm' prototype 39c test in t-minus ten seconds." Mister Lamperouge watched the test intently, his eyes the only thing showing any interest in the experiment before him. As the test counted down to zero, a buzzer sounded. Immediately the polarised screen turned pitch black and the sounds of sparks could be heard from inside the chamber. Light started to flicker across the deep abyssal screen like bolts of lightning across the black night. The sparks grew in intensity, before finally it reached its limit, and the spark spewed across the room with an impressive snap. As the bolt of light collided with a target on the opposing wall, a stream a bright light lagged behind it, growing until eventually the entire screen displayed only white, blinding light, before vanishing as if it had never existed; all within the space of a split second.

"Deactivating polarised screens,"

The black screens faded back to a grey, revealing a series of spider web fractures throughout the several inch thick bullet-proof glass. Some cracked panels of glass clung to the deep black, giving a patchwork effect to the entire image. The device Samson had set up had burst into flames, the many internal components lodged into the plain walls. The screens and walls were ablaze with rich flames, the very air burning up as it circled the epicentre of the blast with in a raging tempest of flames. The solid steel target had been obliterated entirely, the only remnants being the trickle of molten metal and concrete running down the adjacent walls.

"Room temperature reads at over fifteen-hundred degrees Celsius. Bringing room temperature down to habitable levels."

Hoses in the roof began to jet liquid nitrogen down into the room without control, the sprinklers having been completely destroyed, only to form a faint haze of steam. The walls began to gush as liquid heat stabilisers kicked into action. Mister Lamperouge watched with great interest, examining the end result of potentially the most dangerous weapon we'd yet to created. A wicked grin formed on his face as he examined the damage done.

"So they finally did figure out how to create a Plasma Arc Cannon. I have to say, the name of the project is a very apt description; how long until it can be stabilised and weaponized?"

"Professor Samson believes that he can have a working, portable PAC in five months' time."

The young man pondered on this briefly, watching as the staff rushed about with cryo-stream guns and heat dispersion suits, trying to halt the raging storm of flames and debris. Having seen enough, he vacated his seat and marched towards the door. "I'd like to see the progress you have made on the Loki."

"Of course, sir."

We strolled through the halls, the staff parting like the red sea around us, either in fear or respect; or they were yanked back by those who did. The pace was relaxed, though a tense silence settled between us. Eventually, the young master spoke again, his tone indicative of his anxiety.

"A new scientist will be joining you very soon. She is a personal friend of mine, and I would like you to look after her the best you can."

My heart sunk slightly, and I fought back a deep frown; had a complaint been filed? "All of our staff are treated equally, and are well looked after; there is no need to ask." I replied.

"Yes, well, she is a rather special case."

Now I was thoroughly confused. "Oh?"

"She has a deep paranoia towards the Japanese due to a traumatic experience in the ghettoes." He paused briefly, watching me for any adverse reaction. All I could do was frown in disappointment; it was hard to dispel the image of animals when some still acted like them. "Do not be concerned, she is anything but violent; she is comparable to a small mouse. She is just rather fragile; that is where you come in." He offered, as we reached the end of the corridor, a massive steel blast door halting our progress.

I moved to the Hangar's control panel, keying in the access code as I nodded to the teen. "Of course, sir; I'll make sure she is well accommodated for."

He allowed a small smile, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Good."

Hitting the enter key, the massive gears roared into action, parting the thick metal doors, revealing the innards of the Hangar. Rows of towering, metallic behemoth slumbered, armour and components lay strewn about them. Some stood, imposing their presence upon the miniscule workers below, some lay folded in on themselves, ready to be stacked up and filed away in the massive racks lining the walls. Their caretakers flitted back and forth, running diagnostics on the automaton warriors, spot welding, arming and disarming. The Hangar was a buzz of activity as engineers rushed much needed components to and fro. The hiss of welding guns and growl of cranes punctuated the air with an almost calming rhythm. I politely gestured Mister Lamperouge forward, which he obliged politely.

We approached the end of the massive hall, the rows of prototype Knightmares watching our every step. Standing above all else, there stood a jet black automaton that would have stood just a head taller than a Gloucester. It sported the tell-tale skeletal frame of a Colchester, with the segmented, notched, chitinous armour wrapped around the thick boned body. Crystalline protrusions dotted the daemonic carapace, glittering with deathly precision under the dim lighting. The normally angular facial features of the Colchester were discarded in favour of more rounded features, crested with angular, sharp notches. Cables connected into the machination at various access points, throbbing with energy. Just standing in front of the menacing creature felt like disturbing a sleeping giant.

"I now present to you, the '_Loki' _Knightmare Frame" I proudly stated, dramatically motioning towards the monstrous creature.

Mister Lamperouge was a hard figure to read, so I suppose what I saw on his face was something akin to being impressed. "Is it fully functional yet?"

I shuffled over to the diagnostics station, motioning for the fifteen year old to follow. "Not entirely. While the frame is completely functional, being just a supped up Colchester, the special features are still not combat ready."

"How long until it will be combat ready?"

I paused, thinking over it for a moment, before bringing up the power distribution charts. "The Chameleon Coils and Trans-holographic Projectors are currently working, but the sheer energy required to sustain them is impractical."

"And the Electronic Disruption Technology?"

I beamed at the man, moving over to my work bench. "I recently had a breakthrough, and was able to produce a small device capable of distorting standard electronic devices." I sifted through the mess of scrap and tangle of cables until I eventually stumbled upon the aforementioned device, just a regular wrist watch to the naked eye, showcasing it to the young entrepreneur. "I really need some field data, however, so I wanted you to give it to Miss Shinozaki for me. She seems to be able to take care of herself, after all." I gave a small chuckle, nervous tension building at my assumption, something not dispelled by Mister Lamperouge's aloof gaze. "I took the liberty of hiding it inside a watch, make it less conspicuous."

A small grin slipped onto Lamperouge's face as he examined the piece with amusement, and the tension inside me disintegrating instantly. "How very James Bond." Was his answer, something that elicited a proud chuckle from myself.

"That is what I was going for."

"Very well, I'll ha-"

The conversation was effectively cut off as the subject came rushing through the massive bulkhead of a door, usual maids uniform flapping vividly behind her. We all halted in our place, watching as the maid rushed through the unrelenting hordes of people, receiving nods of respect from the crew in reminiscence of the boy at my side.

As she finally closed on us, her usual calm demeanour was replaced with an urgency I'd never seen on her face.

"Master Lelouch, I'm afraid it is time to leave," She spoke softly, so that only Mister Lamperouge and I could hear. The teenager's smirk vanished and was instantly transformed to grim understanding.

"So who has he sent?"

"Miss Monica Kruszewski along with her regimental force. They should arrive within the hour," She answered stiffly, eliciting a deeper frown for the boy.

"I suppose there is no point in trying to hide now, is there?" He gave a sigh to the rhetorical question, fiddling with the watch in his hand. "Have you initiated the failsafes?"

Miss Shinozaki gave a curt nod, which caused the boy to relax slightly. "Very well; I want you to return to Ashford Academy and remain there until further orders," He responded, to which Miss Shinozaki was going to protest, but instead caught herself after a brief pause.

"Very well, Master Lelouch," And she left, just like that. Lelouch turned to me, his grim features unfailing.

"You may leave early today. Please give notice to the rest of the research staff that they too are allowed to leave early." His voice left no room for argument, so I simply nodded and began to round up my colleagues. I may have no clue what is going on, or why Mister Lamperouge is being chased by the Knight of Twelve, but I do know that I trust him more than any of those imperial bastards. They discarded me like eleven trash; he gave me a new home, a new purpose, and access to some of the most powerful tech in the empire. No matter what happened, I would support the boy.

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_**Captain Alan Summers, 12**__**th**__** Royal Infantry Company, Earl of Winchester**_

_**August 24**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**9:31PM**_

_**Ashford/Lamperouge Industrial Research Complex, Tokyo Settlement**_

The rhythmic pounding of boots filtered through my open-faced helmet as our feet crashed into the ground in synchrony. My men and I followed closely behind our de facto leader, the Knight of Twelve, a rather young, pretty woman with long, golden yellow hair and wide, perceptive blue eyes. My standard issue assault rifle was tucked in my shoulder, while I watched the surrounding corridors with extreme vigilance. Behind me stood the rest of the platoon, the forward rank bearing the pole-arm rifles like an ancient phalanx formation, while those behind them fielded the more conventional assault rifle. I counted twenty men and women in total, all completely combat ready, with a small arsenal of grenades strapped to their chests. Why we would need this ordinance, I didn't know; assume maximum hostility, I suppose.

What was disconcerting, however, was the lack of people. We'd been scouring this facility for only ten minutes, but we'd been yet to find a single person. Experiments lay resting midway through completion, computers left on with half completed data. It was like everyone had just up and left, regardless of what they'd been doing. There was no sign of emergency, nothing was out of place. Everything was as neat as you could expect from scientists.

I quickened my pace, catching up to our femme fatale leader. "Are we certain that the target is here?"

Her stride lost none of its speed at the question, and her determined ferocity beset upon her. "The OSI last spotted Lamperouge in the industrial Knightmare hangar; they have yet to see him leave, so that's where we're heading."

"And you don't think he left with everyone else? He obviously knew we were coming and told the staff to leave; it would have been easy enough to blend in with the crowd." I pointed out, making careful sure my tone gave nothing but respect for the woman; insubordination charges weren't dropped lightly, and I had a family to feed. "I could have the rest of the company search elsewhere for Mister Lamperouge."

"There is no need, Captain." She reassured sternly, sparking an inkling of confusion, "Mister Lamperouge may be reckless, but he is not stupid. He knows we are here for him; he doesn't have the endurance to hide from an entire regiment tasked with capturing him. He will either fight or surrender, and he understands the futility of fighting against the royal guard by himself."

"And you know this from experience?" I queried, hoping to delve further.

"I am well acquainted with Mister Lamperouge, though it has been many years since we'd last met." Was her reply, the air of finality clinging to her words with chilling resoluteness. I clamped my mouth shut, lest I say something to further push the brutal, beautiful woman at my side to take drastic measures against me.

We came to a halt, the daunting, colossal hangar door leading to our objective left cracked open, revealing a long, cavernous room shrouded by shadows. Mistress Kruszewski eyed the ensconcing silhouettes with diligent caution. I activated the helmet comm, signalling for the platoon to activate thermal vision. "Assume hostilities; the target is in a Knightmare hangar. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie, move in and take positions. Delta, prepare explosives."

Which beckoned the unanimous, "Yes, my lord!" as they carried out my orders. The first fifteen soldiers rushed into the breach, consumed by the darkness. The last five followed closely behind, grenades primed and ready, fingers wrapped tightly around the pins in preparation. Their faint silhouettes played in the darkness, the brief flashes of light catching onto their royal purple jackets as they rushed around the massive library of Knightmares in hunt of their prey.

It was after a few more seconds that Mistress Kruszewski marched into the shadows herself. I quickly followed, keeping pace with the determined woman, my rifle cocked and holstered in my shoulder. As we passed through the steel blast door, I felt unease wash over me. The atmosphere was eerie, the air chilled. A light draft ran through the hall, whistling through the carapace of the monstrosities lining the wall. My heart hammered in my chest, pounded in my ears. I unwittingly flinched at every slight movement, every faint sound. Even Miss Kruszewski was feeling the effects, the slight hesitation in her gait, the near invisible tremor to her breathing. Goosebumps washed over my skin as the chilled, damp air licked at the back of my neck. Instinct kicked in, and I withdrew a small flashlight from my back satchel. With clumsy, quivering hands, I flicked on the small device, only for the darkness to mock my attempts, consuming the light with reckless abandon and glee.

"Switch on the frickin' lights!" I finally called out, the dread clawing up my throat, strangling the words into painful gasps. I stood stock still, frozen in place as the second hand of my watch ticked with meticulous, _loud_ precision. No answer. My head buzzed as the adrenaline kicked in, my muscles tensing, my flight or fight instinct _screaming_ at me to high-tail it.

"Y-y-yes, my lord," The voice –clearly female- was meek, scared to speak lest something prey upon her. I breathed a sigh of relief at hearing at least some response. The faint shuffling of overcoats and clatter of weapons the other soldiers gave only worked to affirm my own reaction.

With a flicker, the large lights blazed to life with a familiar clicking, the dread quelling slightly as the darkness shied away. All of the guard ducked their heads out from behind cover, silently relieved that the oppressive darkness was abated. "Switching off thermal" came the call from one of the many soldiers, followed closely by the almost rhythmic chant of confirmation.

"All right, form up behind me. Sergeant Keller, report." I quickly spat out, trying hastily to leave this place as soon as possible. The Sergeant moved to my flank, bowing respectfully as he did so, though the slight trepidation in his rigid form destroying any semblance of a professional soldier. The other guard quickly melded into rank and file, ready and willing to get the hell out of here.

"All report no contacts; thermals didn't pick up any emissions apart from welding gear, My Lord." Was his hasty response, the words forced from his throat. We lulled into a sense of peace as I was about to motion for the soldiers to leave when I caught a glimpse of pale flesh from the corner of my eye. I spun to meet the new arrival, coming face to face with a young boy, his slick black hair hanging in a mop, blaring violet eyes piercing into my soldiers. He wore nothing immaculate, but his stance demanded respect, over threat of consequences.

"I was wondering when it was you'd arrive." A voice sneered from ahead, rigidly planted to the ground in almost rebellion.

"Contact!" I yelled, almost involuntarily, raising my rifle and depressing my trigger finger ever so slightly. The rest of the guard worked in synchrony, their own weapons clanking off their breast plates. However, unlike aiming their weapons at the boy in front of us as I had, they spun about on their heels, looking for the target just ahead of them like blinded beasts. They rushed to surround the Knight of Twelve, forming a defensive ring around the woman. Wild mutterings of 'not being able to see the contact' and 'where'd the bugger go?' rushed about the horde in harsh whispers. They twitched from side to side, trying to spot the young man who'd appeared just in front of us as if he were a ghost.

Before I could call into question the soldiers, Mistress Kruszewski stepped forward, emerging from the twitching horde of soldiers. "Masks off! Must be a glitch in their programming." She called, and each soldier hesitated slightly, before reluctantly removing their face masks. All looked visibly stunned as they caught a glimpse of the boy not fifteen metres from them, his shaggy black hair dancing idly in the chilling draft. The boy remained apathetic at best, malevolent at worst, scanning the ground with detest, before his cold gaze settled upon Mistress Kruszewski. Revulsion was evident as he looked over her, the anger and malcontent oozing from his pores like thick venom.

"So the emperor finally decided to send his pit-dog to collect his children; typical." The boy snarled, defiantly waltzing up to us, scowling heavily. My unease grew with every stride the boy made, like trespassing on sacred ground. Compulsions to run wracked my body; there was something undeniably _wrong_ with this boy. He shot me a glare, before facing Miss Kruszewski once more, animosity radiating from the frown weighing down on his thin face. "And if I am unwilling to return to that nest of vipers?"

If Mistress Kruszewski was fighting the same compulsion as I, she gave no sign of it. "We have been instructed to take you back by force," Was her distant, authoritarian response. The boy scoffed at her, grim amusement at her presumption evident in his chilling stare.

"Very well, I will go with you, if only to retain what dignity I have that man has not seen to tread on." He hissed in response.

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'_The ALI-14 Colchester Variant Knightmare Frame has reached completion, and has proven to out-do the RPI-11 Sutherland Knightmare Frame in the majority of aspects. This was thanks to the innovative work of our mixed ethnic production team, and the undeniable work of several outside contractors, their identities withheld for security reasons. The major features that separate the Colchester from the Sutherland come down to three main innovations; the armour, the 'landspinners' and the 'Intuitive Movement Index. The machine is built as a light-weight, skeletal frame, made of nano-crystalized, densified carbon fibre and a variety of ceramics. This makes the frame considerably lighter, and thus more agile than that of the Sutherland, which uses heavy titanium alloys. The current prices established by the Central Oceanic Wasteland have titanium and the other metals common in Knightmare construction as astronomically high, due to their increasing scarcity, thus making the previously economically unviable polymers and ceramics on par for price with the rare metals. This in turn means that the cost of production for a Colchester is only above that of a Sutherland, as opposed to the enormous price of the RPI-15 Gloucester. As the Colchester was designed to be outfitted from the bottom up, the options for different carapace armour variants as more versatility to enemy environments, specialising the Knightmare. The Carapace armour is made of the same materials as the frame, and thus does not add to the weight substantially. The armour has been proven to be far more effective at absorbing shock than the Sutherlands, allowing the Colchester to fall from heights that would destroy a Sutherland relatively unscathed. This, however, is countered by the armours increased susceptibility to fire, to the point of near uselessness against modern Knightmare armaments. Leader of the Project, Doctor Takahashi, has argued in response to this qualm by pointing out that "in the day of railgun technology, armour is about as useful as butter against a bullet", and instead opts to focus on increasing manoeuvrability-'_

-Roger Millikan, Excerpt from '_Colchester Development Report' _to R. Ashford, sent 03/05/2015 A.T.B

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_**Authors Note-**_

To anybody that has reached this point: Congratulations! You have successfully proven that people do in fact have an attention span! A mighty bravo to you, my kind sirs and ladies!

To those who have gotten this far and are unwilling to read this note, I will refrain from verbally abusing you with a metaphorical stick; this time.

I disliked writing the scene in the Laboratories; I found it dull. It was, however, necessary. Sorry 'bout that.

If you have any questions, please ask. I'll be happy to explain.

Any support is also welcome. Any criticism is welcome. Greetings are also welcome. In fact, I'd love it if you just popped in to say 'yo'

This story will be updated at irregular intervals…. Sorry 'bout that. In fact, this particular chapter is only here to see what people think of it, and whether it is worth my time to continue

I am sure that intelligent peoples such as yourselves have already figured out that the reason this story is on Fanfiction, rather than say, Fictionpress, is because it is FANFICTION, meaning I do not own Code Geass. However, the story ideas I can safely say were scavenged from all you lovely authors and stuck together in one big amalgamation of ideas. Therefore, even the idea does not belong to me. I just felt like trying my hand at this generic genre! Sorry to those I took ideas from. I would list you, but alas, the list is huge and I don't remember half of you!

I do apologise about the length. You see, many things needed to be displayed, and I really didn't want to have to explain further into the story why things are the way they are; thus, one super chapter. I can assure you that the next chapters will be much shorter (between 7500-10,000 words). 16,000 words can be quite draining to write.

Thank you for reading, and I bid you adieu

Kind Regards,

_**Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Proctor of the Twilight Empire  
**_**Sable tools on a Black Canvas  
Turn 2**_

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'_It came as a shock to most when he came out of the private jet, his head held high and flanked by two guards. He was, in a word, refined. I still remember when he looked me in the eye; his stunning violet eyes just froze me in my place. Now that I look back on it, I realise that it was nothing more than a childish crush of a teenage girl. You see, at the time I was just an intern at _The Pendragon Courier_, one of the many prestigious news networks in Britannia at the time. We'd received an anonymous tip that a very important person was to be landing at Pendragon International. When he had walked off the plane we had all but ambushed him, but I was confused. I didn't know who this boy –nay, young man- was, but the older Mister Smithson, the reporter I was stationed with, knew who he was immediately. "Prince Lelouch-" he'd muttered, and my eyes turned as wide as saucers. A prince?! And that was when his eyes locked with mine, the icy violet orbs making me weak in the knees. He was simply stunning,'_

-Lucy Holledge, '_The Black Dawn Rising; A Biography',_ Published 2075 A.T.B

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_**Lelouch Lamperouge**_

_**August 25**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**1:23AM**_

_**Saint Augustus Avenue, Tokyo Settlement**_

_With every inch of my now aching body, I cursed his seemingly infinite pools of stamina. He leapt and bound through the jungle, his charge resting tightly on his back, her faint, careless giggles punctuating the otherwise noiseless environment. Ragged gasps cascaded through my overstrained body, fire spewed through my muscles. I swore, when I caught up to that little runt, I'd give him hell._

"_What's takin' ya', Lelouch?" He cried out after me, his above par English heavily accented with an undeniable Japanese tone; taunting me from my position behind him. I growled under my breath, only for it to come out as a wheeze of sorts. Damn that jock-head! "We only went for a five kilometre jog, you can't possibly be tired yet!" He taunted, though to him I suppose it would have been just a light-hearted jeer. Regardless, I swore to whatever god out there I would bring him off his high horse. The little girl hanging from his back gave another giggle, pulling herself as tight to the boy's back as physically possible._

"_Come on Brother! We're nearly there!" She called back, and I was briefly torn from my curses. With a renewed stamina –at least for the next hundred metres or so- I ran after them, the promise of this dreadful activity finally coming to an end driving me forward._

_We broke through the thick forest thicket and into a clearing, my ragged gasps for air melding with the serene lapping of water. The crisp air left a salty taste to my mouth. With every light gush of warm wind came a sheen of moisture on my skin. The rustle of leaves as the ocean breeze bushed against the thicket, and the endless blue and green ocean stretching from this speck of lush, grassy cliff was enough to drain the fatigue from my body; it was beautiful. I moved over to the edge, resting my small body against the thin wooden fence, peering down to the bottom of the cliff where the halcyon waters crashed against the jagged rocks just a hundred metres below._

"_Where are we, Suzaku?" Nunnally asked behind me, a contented smile on her face, "Are we at the ocean?"_

"_Uh huh!" He nodded in affirmation, looking about with smug satisfaction, "This is a little spot I found a few years back."_

"_Well, it's very beautiful" The young girl responded, beaming at the boy, "Thank you for bringing us here."_

_I kept watching the waters below, the hypnotic crash, lull, and retreat of water entrancing me. The serenity was broken, though, when a sense of impending danger washed over me. I searched the waters for something, anything that may have set off my senses. There wasn't anything I could see, only the specks of islands in the distance. "It's not a problem Nunnally," Suzaku replied, his voice slightly higher, evidence to the slight blush he inevitably had. He must've noticed my discomfort, because he moved over to my side. "What's wrong?"_

_I didn't know how to respond. There wasn't anything wrong, per say; just a feeling. Before I could respond, Suzaku jumped onto the railing, confusion plastered on his soft, childish face. "What're those?" He asked, finger outstretched, indicating the silhouetted specks I'd assumed as islands._

"_They're not islands?" I asked, confused slightly._

"_Not unless they were formed in the past year," Was his answer. _

_Still unsure, I watched the specks intently. Without a doubt, they were moving; the posts in the fence gave a good reference for that._

"_Is there something wrong, brother?" My sister asked from behind me. Turning to her, I put my sincerest smile on my face._

"_No, nothing's wrong at all. Just saw something off the side of the cliff is all." It was small, but after years of watching, I knew how to spot her pout anywhere. Guilt wracked my heart as I realised my blunder, "We just saw some specks and couldn't figure out what they were."_

"_What is that?!" Suzaku shouted, and I spun on my heels. A glint streaked through the sky, a plume of white streaking behind it. A faint roar permeated the air as we watched the object break the sound barrier. I wracked my mind for an answer to my friend's questions, sorting through the possibilities. Where had I seen this before? Schneizel's lectures on the military came to mind. What could it be though? I watched as the object drew closer, the roar louder; a cruise missile._

"_Get down!" I screamed, jumping to the ground painfully as the missile drew near. Suzaku dived for the ground, bringing Nunnally to the fore to protect her. An ear splitting roar filled the air as the rocket soared overhear, my ears ringing as it zoomed past. I looked up, watching as the missile streaked through the air, the tail of white smoke trailing dutifully behind it. About twenty seconds later, it collided with its target._

_As the initial shock subsided, I lifted myself wearily from the ground. Smoke filled the air, and the undeniable hues of orange flames still danced in the air. From my guess, the impact wasn't too far away; five kilometres, maybe. Wait! Five Kilometres? Dread filled my gut as I mulled it over. I regained my bearings, remembering the path just taken. But that meant that it hit-_

"_Dad!" The Japanese boy cried, rushing into the jungle with a quivering body, Nunnally left lying on the ground crying. _

I awoke with a start, the gentle rumble of an engine accentuated the air. My head rested against a comfortable leather headrest, and my thin body sunk into the plush luxury seats. My neck was stiff, and with a painful roll, I stretched the muscles. The booth was lightly lit, warding off the pitch black night outside. High rise structures flitted by as the vehicle rushed along the barren highways of the metropolis. The governor's palace stood at the centre of the urban thrall, an ever vigilant warden amongst the rowdy barbarians and concrete carcasses surrounding the supposedly utopian society of the Tokyo settlement. It was detestable. It was also a little odd that we would be driving along such a main arterial road and not a single other vehicle was around, even at this time of night.

My vision shifted to the other end of the booth, where the blonde knight who'd seen fit to capture me sat, talking in hushed tones to a radio receiver, no doubt briefing the pilot that would drag me back to Pendragon. I scowled vehemently at the thought; what purpose does bringing me back serve, outside of the Emperors sick amusement? I had outlived my use as soon as he sent me to Japan as a political hostage. Without any knowledge, I had no idea what way to proceed, something I'd rather fix, and the only one with any information right now is the lovely miss Kruszewski.

"I couldn't imagine that Clovis was too happy with Charles personal forces marching into his state; knowing him, he'd take it as a lack of confidence in his rule," I prodded, eliciting a vaguely surprised response from the knight, "Or perhaps, you failed to mention your arrival."

"Ah, you're awake; good," Miss Kruszewski shifted from her position, facing me directly now, "No, Clovis is unaware of our presence here. The OSI has been covering our trails as we go."

Good, she wasn't censoring or withholding information. "So what does our _illustrious_ emperor want with me; I thought that I was dead to him," I seethed, sarcasm dripping from my tone

Miss Kruszewski pondered on this slightly, not at all taken aback by my offensive tone. "I don't know why he would want you back; he made it clear as day that you were not wanted at all. Perhaps he regrets his decision to send you?" I was about to cackle in laughter at the absurdity, but Miss Kruszewski beat me to the point with a light sigh, "Though that's not very likely. I've known the man for well over a decade, and I have not known him to regret any decision he's made; it's more likely he just wants another plaything." She replied, her face as stern as ever, though her tone uplifted with the slightest twang of light-hearted jest.

"He has always taken a certain joy in toying with his own children," I remarked, more to myself than anyone else.

"Yes, but none more than you and sweet Nunnally. Maybe Marrybelle, though she wasn't exactly thrown to the curb," It was extraordinarily difficult, but the tell-tale signs of sadness seeped onto her face, something that made my frigid demeanour melt slightly. Her rigid features slanted into a scowl, "But I think you should worry more about the nobility; they will probably throw a fit when they find out you were alive."

I rolled my eyes, looking out the window once more, "I'm sure the nobility will have a field day with my return to court. Knowing them, they'll do everything in their power to remove the blight on the royal family; no place for commoners amongst blue bloods after all."

Miss Kruszewski nodded in agreement, frowning as she thought it through. "The royal court will likely try to have you tried and executed; likely for desertion, dereliction of duty, treason or some half-hearted excuse like that."

I was about to reply when the screen behind her head slid open, revealing a rather discreet looking driver. "We've arrived at the dock, Miss Kruszewski." She nodded, removing her seatbelt and exiting the vehicle.

As I stepped out of the beautiful limousine, the reek of fish, petrol, and salt assault my nose. I wrinkled it in an effort to block out the putrid stench. The usual grind of machines and clank of gears were absent in the wake of the early morning. The plain, grey concrete of the dock and steel of the warehouses was a bitter sight, only the occasional oil spill breaking up the monotony. Puddles of water and spilt petrol glistened in the night, the moon shining radiantly upon the bleak surface. Cargo containers with unknown contents littered the floor, the dull red and green blotched by rust and mossy build-up. How a place with no walls could feel like a prison, I don't know.

"We'll be boarding the _Neptune's Gaze_, an OSI frigate disguised as cargo hauler." Miss Kruszewski started, directing me towards the beat up hauler in dock, the thick, motley ropes tethering the ship to the dull concrete slab, "Once we leave Area Eleven waters, we'll board a VTOL aircraft back to Pendragon."

I sighed in defeat, turning my head back to the Settlement, gazing upon the appallingly grand structure that happily sat atop and in the midst of a city's carcass. I felt almost sick, thinking of being trapped in the gilded halls of the palace, forced to endure the banquets paid in blood by people just like those who'd dragged me through the war intact, chuckling under thinly veiled threats as I tread upon those who'd fought and lost to a militant monarch. My life was basically forfeit. Deep down, I knew it was Nunnally who I am worried about. She is undoubtedly safe with the Ashford's; they hadn't sold me out before, so it's safe to assume they wouldn't sell her out either. The realisation didn't make me feel much better, though. I'd be leaving her to live her life without me, something that broke my heart

"Is everything alright, Lelouch?"

"Just thinking; I didn't get to say goodbye to my friends, or give my thanks to Mister Ashford." I replied, shifting my attention back to her. "I barely had time to sneak in to gather my belongings," I explained.

Miss Kruszewski nodded in understanding, collecting my luggage from the chauffeur, and motioning towards the ship. "I know it's bad now, but the sooner we play your father's game, the sooner you can get back to living a normal life." She paused, mulling over the statement curiously, before cracking a small smile, "Or rather, as normal as a fifteen year old manager of a global arms manufacturer can have."

"Come along; let's head off." I nodded, following behind her as I marched into my steel cage.

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_**Codename: Yaoling**_

_**August 25**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**TIME UNKNOWN**_

_**LOCATION UNKNOWN**_

With a sickening, wet crack, another fist collided with my face, smashing my head back into the steel chair frame. A small yelp left my mouth as sharp pain cascaded through my system. I fought to retain consciousness as my bruised, bloodied face screamed for relief from the throbbing pain. Blood filled my mouth as I bit my tongue and cheek with every wicked punch. My cheeks burned as they bruised – the molten liquid dribbling from the splits in my skin, trickling down my face in torturously slow streams. The sharp, metal cuffs binding me to my seat dug into my flesh, tearing the coarse flesh from the muscle in agonising pain, my own writhing only adding to it. Blood trickled from the lengthy gashes marring my skin, the ragged flesh ripping with every painful spasm I made. Pain came with every small, shallow breath I took, my throat ran raw from every pained scream forced from my lips. With every slight jitter of my jaw, sharp, stabbing pain flooded my system; my heart sunk as I realised the bone must've been splintered.

I don't know how long I'd been here, or how long it has been since I was moved from the barbaric prison hospital to this torture chamber; all I know is if they kept this up, I wouldn't be able to retain consciousness much longer; I'd lost too much blood, and taken too much damage to continue.

Two men sat in front of me, both dressed in the grey uniform of the Office of Secret Intelligence; I'd run into them more than enough to recognise them. The first man was a brute, standing well over six feet tall, filled to the brim with rippling, solid muscle. His uniform was tight to his body, and gave every movement he made its respected time in the limelight. He spoke with an arrogant flair, enough pomp in his voice to choke an elephant. Some sort of flamboyant, aristocratic skin head; probably didn't have enough brain cells to share with an amoeba. I glared through swollen, half-lidded eyes at the man, him being responsible for the last punch I'd received, though my wrathful gaze felt weak even for me. The other man was a long, lanky man with a cleanly shaved, polished head, a grave expression permanently etched onto his old, wrinkled face. I sneered at him, baring my teeth at the man; the dunce may have been hitting me, but this bastard was far worse.

The appalling man sat behind muscle-head, playing with his toys. Cattle prod, truth serums, irons being heated to red hot on a hot plate, hessian sacks and jugs of water, rusted knives. To the side of the dank room sat a trough filled with water. Only thing missing was an iron maiden. The burly brawn drew his arm back for another punch, and my body flinched unwittingly as it prepared for another beating.

"Stop, Thaddeus; he'll fall unconscious before much longer." The voice was repulsive, a disgusting droll that felt both pompous and slimy. He approached my chair, arms clasped tightly behind his back as though he had even a shred of discipline and honour. He brought his face to mine, his beady little eyes watching gleefully as I shrivelled my face in disgust. "You've done well to stay awake as long as you have, you filthy Asian mutt, but unfortunately I'm running out of time to play." His tone was lecherous, and I fought the urge to spit at him; the blood would give his pasty pallor some colour. His disgusting grin fell from his face as he whipped his hands around my side, gripping onto my worn wrists. His talon like nails slipped into my wounds, digging around the broken, swollen flesh. A gasp slipped my throat as the pain overwhelmed me. He dug around through the many gashes and crisscrossed wounds, slipping his fingers deeper and deeper into my arm with every painful, excruciating, agonising movement. "Now, little mutt, tell us; who sent you to assassinate the Knight of Seven, and how did you lure him down into the old dungeon?" The words were a harsh whisper, and felt none less filthy. His fingers rubbed deeper with every word. Bile rose into my mouth as I whimpered, the pain numbing me to anything but it. I clamped my jaw and eyes shut, willing nothing to come spilling out as I wracked my brain, searching desperately for the answer, only for my body to scream out for me to _please stop the pain!_

"That will be enough, Lord Burrows." The voice was smooth as silk, well groomed to be most appealing to the ears; a diplomat, if I had to guess. The sickening man harrumphed at the intrusion, but nonetheless backed away. A wave of relief washed over me as he withdrew his filthy, mangled nails from my arm. I let out a shaky, uneven breath, gasping for air; I must've forgotten to breath. I cracked open my eyes, the swelling almost sealing my right eye shut. My vision was blurry; tears, blood and sweat made sure of that. My saviour was dressed in long, white coat, trimmed with gold, covering a regal purple shirt, his long blonde hair flipped flamboyantly to the side. A gentle smile was settled on his face, but his sharp blue eyes dared _anyone_ to disobey him; a Prince. He watched me, considering me for the briefest moment, before his gaze fixed upon my captors, his face still elegantly poised in an oddly paradoxical, pleasantly neutral expression. "Please release his hand cuffs," When the guards hesitated for a moment, the prince pressed further, "I'd prefer to have a civilised discussion with our guest while I'm here."

Knowing they couldn't argue the man's order, they came over and released my sharp, metal bonds. I fought back the urge to weep in relief. The Prince took a seat at the plain, steel table in the centre of the chamber, indicating for me to join him. Gathering my dignity, I lifted myself from my chair, carefully disguising my quivering, shaky legs as I hefted my seat along with me, ignoring my jailors in favour of the prince. I seated myself modestly, trying as I might to exude my own aura of grace. We sat in stark silence for a few brief moments, silently examining one another; he was up to something, anyone with a mind of their own could see that. His personal aide gave a small cough, breaking the tense stare down. "Ah, I apologise, Mister Shen, I didn't come here to sit here in silence" He answered, and I cracked my eyes open slightly; how did he know?

As if to answer my query, the aide handed a bundle of papers to the Prince, which he skimmed over briefly, before setting them on the table just in front of me. I eyed the papers suspiciously, watching for any offensive action against me. I only found the prince giving me an encouraging look. Taking up the papers in shaky, tortured hands, I scanned them. My heart sunk. My picture was clipped to the left hand side, my navy blue, almost black eyes glaring back at me, shrouded by the shaggy black hair covering my face.

**Operating Codename: Yaoling**

**Name: Shen, Lucas**

**Birthdate: 21/02/2002**

**Ethnicity: Scandinavian/Chinese**

**Height: 156cm**

**Weight: 47kg**

**Active Years of Service: 9**

The list went on, detailing me and my many exploits taken in the name of the Chinese Federation. Despair flooded me as I came to the stark realisation; they'd sold me out. The Prince gave me a sad gaze, attempting to display a faux empathy as he watched me. "We approached the Chinese Federation about you. It was actually remarkably difficult, not knowing your name. Eventually they gave us all they had, but refused having any involvement with your current operation. Considering that they gave us your entire profile, I am inclined to believe them." When I remained quiet, the Prince continued on, "They even provided the files they had on your sisters; they suggested we keep an eye out for them."

I fought the urge to perk up and give the Prince any sort of indication. Never show weakness, lest others abuse it after all, a lesson I'd learnt many times. Besides, they can take care of themselves; I chanted that to myself. I lifted my gaze to the Prince, my face set in neutrality. "Do what you will."

The words were mere croaks, my parched throat raw, and my voice scratchy. I dropped my dossier on the table -bloody fingerprints smudged across the paper- and slid it across the table to the Prince. The Prince seemed mildly surprised, both in that I had finally talked, and in my words. It was the slightest hint, but I noticed it; a frown. He hid the action well, using a saddened expression to quickly cover the omission. "I truly wish we could leave them alone, but it has been decided that they may be a threat to the security of the royal court." Or likely that he had, if his previous expression was anything to go by.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anything out of me, he got up and made his way for the door, his personal aide accompanying him after he'd recovered the documents. "A pleasure talking to you, Mister Shen. I do hope they aren't too zealous," were his last words to me, not that I cared much. The supposedly empathetic prince had just condemned me to torture. A loud thump reverberating through my shoulder only emphasised this. With a sense of dread, I turned to face the owner of the hand, finding myself face to face with a repugnant, wrinkled man, grinning maniacally at me. He brought his hand up, a long, black cattle prod gripped tightly in his hand. With a flick of his finger, a crackle of electricity fizzled at the end. The next thing I knew, every cell in my body was lit on fire. I screeched in pain as my body lit up. The saliva in my mouth boiled. My arms burned. My mind frayed. My body was wracked with spasms. My heart stuttered. I grasped anywhere and everywhere in desperate hope of something, anything. My vision faded.

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_**Monica Kruszewski**_

_**August 28**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**10:56AM**_

_**Imperial Palace, Pendragon**_

He was tense; no doubt about it. He wore nothing but the slacks and shirt he'd been dressed in as we took him from the research facility. His hair was in slight disarray, and he was looking positively gaunt and pale, his already thin stature almost squeezing against his bones. He looked exhausted; the dark rings under his eyes a dead giveaway. All in all, he was sufficiently ill equipped to be standing before the reigning monarch of a third of the world.

The court was absent in the mid-morning, the only company we had before the imposing sight of his Excellency being the knight of one, Bismarck. The light of the morning peaked through the massive stained glass windows, glittering along our immaculate, white uniforms, their lapels accentuated with golden trim. The emperor wore his usual garb as well, the royal purple overcoat emblazoned with gold. By all means, the boy was so incredibly underdressed by the standards of present company; it would have been embarrassing had anyone else been around to see it. He didn't back down though, he stood as proud as he had five years prior, a mature and dignified air about him far more senior than his youth should allow.

Charles wore an amused smirk on his broad features, his normally heavy, dark purple eyes lit with a smug glee. He sat comfortably on his golden throne, reclining into the plush crimson pillows like a lazed cat, toying with its meal.

"Lelouch" Charles greeted, his rich baritone flaked with hints of sadistic gaiety. He rose from his dais; an imposing sight in all his glory, his grin diminished none. Lelouch remained unfazed, staring the surly man straight in his sharp, violet eyes.

"Charles" He greeted, seething the words as his father stood just before him.

Charles cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the audacity of the boy, and amused nonetheless. "Is that any way to speak to your father?" He jested, and Lelouch's frown deepened for a split second, before his face settled to neutrality.

"Oh, you're my father?" He jabbed, a delicate mask of indifference settled onto his features, "I thought the errant rumour was that I am the illegitimate child of the devil himself, though I do suppose that isn't too far from the truth," he added, shrugging to himself slightly.

I resisted a snort as I held in my laughter. The boy had spunk, no doubt. "Do you normally speak to those with the power to grant you amnesty in such a way?" Charles questioned, his grin slightly wider.

Lelouch snapped back instantly, his wit at the fore once more. "No, but I do talk to my supposed father like this; it is a family tradition, or so I am led to believe. I wouldn't know for certain, seeing as you killed them all." He emphasised the accusation with every nonchalant word, his stance relaxed as though he were having an everyday conversation.

This time, Charles let loose a mighty bellow, laughing heartily and deeply at the audacity of his child. "You have always had a loose tongue, boy!" The Emperor roared between deep, unsettling chuckles.

Lelouch had no difficulty retaining his mask, sneering as he replied. "Certainly didn't inherit it from you, else it would be a loose belt rather than tongue." Even Bismarck appeared to be straining to hold in his laughter.

"Do you really wish to die that badly, boy?" The threat was anything but idle, though the smirk Charles still wore could have easily fooled anybody that didn't know him.

"You said it yourself; I never lived in the first place. Why grovel to keep something I never had?" He retorted, his glare as prominent as ever, his proud demeanour unfaltering. Charles gave a pleased nod to the boy.

"You've certainly learnt," His smirk left his lips, a serious demeanour replacing the jovial one with artful skill. "Where is Nunnally, Lelouch?"

I gasped as he asked the million dollar question, the previously amusing atmosphere vanished in its entirety, replaced by a chilled, severe air that threatened to choke the life out of us. I'd wondered the exact same thing, though had the tact not to pry. "She's not here anymore, not that you would care. She was useless and expendable, remember? Dead weight." Lelouch replied, his eyes dead, hollow, lost in thought. He wore a pained expression, and he slouched under an imaginary weight. The message was clear; _she's dead_. I felt my heart sink in my chest, and I fought back the urge to question further. No matter how desperately I wanted to know, now was most definitely not the time.

Charles merely nodded, an understanding frown now adorning his solid face. "Very well, you may leave."

Lelouch pivoted on his heel and stalked off without as much as a bow. I gave the Emperor and the Knight of One a respectful bow, before chasing after the bold prince with post haste. Even as I sidled up to him, he gave no indication of slowing his pace, dead set as he was to be rid of this place. As we passed the precipice of the hall, Lelouch finally spoke.

"I refuse to have that man take my life," He snarled the words, shocking me slightly at the blunt remark.

"He's not interested in killing you, you must realise that." I countered, maintaining speed with the boy.

He turned to me, a confounded expression set on his face, as if I stated the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I realise it; he's more interested in watching me squirm and fight my way out. But that doesn't mean he will stop someone from killing me; if his toy can't fight back, it's of no use to him." Quiet agitation bubbled in my chest at his blatant disrespect, but I carefully reined it in; most people would be aggressive when they stood at the edge of their grave.

"Well, what do you have planned?"

Lelouch paused for a brief moment, considering his options at a speed which I could not comprehend; it was an expression I'd seen on both Charles and Schneizel multiple times. Seemingly pleased with his plan, he turned to me, staring me straight in the eye with an expression harder than stone. "Where can I find a fitness instructor?"

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_**Charles zi Britannia, 98**__**th**__** Emperor of the Royal Britannian Empire**_

_**August 28**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**10:56AM**_

_**Imperial Palace, Pendragon**_

With a sigh I marched from the court chamber, exhaustion settling into my aging bones. Outside the presence of the ever observant, lying, thieving blue blooded nobility, I allowed myself a faint slouch, diminishing my ever domineering demeanour. The guards had all but left the area, leaving me to consider the conversation just had. Despite the blatant disrespect he had shown me and my knights, I could not help the swell of pride in me. He was faced with threats of death, yet he did not yield, did not cower. He stood toe to toe with a man weighing easily twice he did, with the power of the most powerful empire at his fingertips, and refused to back down. I suppose after living through the hells of war, a mere man was not intimidating, no matter how much power he held.

"Was that really necessary, Charlie?" A cheeky voice sounded through the hall, one which I immediately recognised, and delighted in hearing. Emerging from the shadows of the corridor, a small girl revealed herself from her lurking. She was small by all accounts, even for a twelve year old. A poof of pink hair sat upon her head, the colour soft and fluffy enough to make candy floss jealous. Her eyes matched the colour, the only distinction being the faintest, glowing red rims around her iris. She sauntered over to me in a mildly seductive manner, something as ill-suited to the body as to make the entire scene somewhat disturbing, especially considering the almost obscenely scant clothing she wore.

"Ah, so you saw that did you?" I asked, continuing my stroll through the halls in nonchalance.

The little girl cocked her hip and rested her hand on it, frowning at me. "Of course I saw it; it's a mother's duty to watch out for her children, is it not?" As I passed her place, she spun on her heel and strolled by my side.

"I suppose so," I shrugged, paying little heed to the little girl that marched at my side as if she were my equal. "Have I ever told you how disconcerting it is to be talking to a twelve year old like my own wife?" I spoke up, still avoiding looking at the body my wife had taken to inhabiting.

Her response was a cheeky smile, one that I missed dearly seeing on her actual face. This body gave a stale taste to my mouth every time I saw it; a weak fake when compared to the effervescence and allure of the proper Marianne. "Many times, dear. It's not going to stop me from harassing you." She gibed, none concerned for what she said in my presence.

"Of course not," The words slipped my tongue with a sigh. I raised my eyes until I locked with hers, "Any news on Code R? I don't believe I can stand this fluffy little pink thing you waltz around in much longer," I gestured to her body to emphasise the point, though it seemed to have little to no effect, as she only gave a coy smile instead, invading my personal space in a way that what would have been flirtatious were it not the fact she wore the skin of a child.

"Oh please, what you really mean is you can't stand not being able to ravish your only love until she screams into the night, aren't I right?"

I rubbed my temple to stem a false headache, groaning at her antics. "You have always been a letch, Marianne. The court may say it is your common upbringing that gave you such a dirty mind, but we both know the truth; that's just you."

Her coy smile did not falter, but instead grew larger in response, "Oh, you love it."

"I suppose so," I grunted non-committedly, not giving the woman the satisfaction of getting under my skin. I hastily changed the subject, bringing it back to the original point of her obstruction, "The boy has guts, to face me like that. He is confident in his ability to elude danger."

She cocked her eyebrow in a way to suggest I'd just spoken the complete obvious, "What else did you expect from the first born of Marianne the Flash?"

"I suppose it is no surprise. I've had more luck ordering a mule around than to even suggest to you something that you won't like." I groaned to her, causing her to giggle slightly.

"'I'll take that as a compliment, Charlie dear!" She jeered; I deadpanned, "I just wish you didn't have to play these games." She said with a pout, eliciting a small smile from me; she was absolutely juvenile; a breath of fresh air in this stuffy, stagnant court.

"Lelouch must earn his position in the court; we both know this. They see him as scum, and unless he does something to earn their respect, he will be a muted voice amongst those vipers."

"Yes, I suppose so. It would certainly be a waste if he were to be drowned out by those other insipid nobles." She sneered; not that her dislike was unwarranted considering their treatment of her, "So why bring him back in the first place? I thought we agreed that we leave him and Nunnally in Japan until we complete the Ragnarok Connection."

"The boy was painting himself as a target; he was the effective leader of Ashford Lamperouge Industrial, a massive arms manufacturer responsible for producing the new Imperial Mechanised Infantry units. He would have been found out eventually, and I would have had even less ability to intervene with matters." I explained half-heartedly.

She eyed me suspiciously, looking me over with her childish, sceptical gaze. "That's not the only reason, now is it?" I wasn't surprised she'd pick up on that; She was always better at telling my half-truths than most. I don't know why I bother sometimes.

"No, but that is a surprise." I grinned, receiving another childlike pout from her, though she knew better than to push the subject; she knew if I was to tell her of my plan, I would do so when I felt it necessary.

We continued walking side by side in comfortable silence, and for the few, briefest moments, I felt contentment at her side; the fact she wore the body of a child all but lost on me. As we passed the threshold of my own, personal quarters within the castle, she spoke up once more.

"So no news of Nunnally, then?"

I frowned, just a little upset at the OSI's inability to find her. "Nothing," I admitted, "I think it best to continue on; if she is not making a nuisance of herself, we should let everyone believe she is dead as Lelouch says. And if what Lelouch says is true, it matters little. Once the Ragnarok Connection is completed, death will be as meaningless as life."

"Such a melancholic poet, aren't you Charlie?" She cooed with a giggle, leaning up and giving me a quick peck on the cheek before turning around and back towards the doorway, "Well, I've got to go now, Charlie boy; studying for the Knightmare exams is dreadful. Anya seriously has no taste for colour, and she's silly enough to choose heavy and slow moving Knightmare kits, though I will not deny her skill in them." She sauntered out of my quarters, her provocative movements marred by her small hips. She turned on her heels and blew me a kiss, the mirth in her eyes making abundantly clear just how much she enjoyed teasing me so. "Bye bye, Charlie dearest."

And she was gone in a flash, nothing indicating she was ever here, leaving me alone in my plush, luxurious apartment. Chuckling under my breath, I moved over to my daybed, picking up the tome I'd been reading from the coffee table; 'War and Peace'. Were any of the nobility to find me reading a Russian novel, I am certain the media would have a field day; they were the idiots to misinterpret my words, after all. Opening it to the page I'd bookmarked, I found a brilliant pink heart with an arrow piercing it embossed on the top of the plain pages, the words 'Mary + Charlie 4ever' written within its bounds, along with a small note telling me to 'cheer up a little, gloomy guts' written in the margin.

Chuckling lightly, I slumped onto the chair, bringing the book up to reading level. "I swear, that woman will be the death of me." I muttered under my breath.

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_**Naoto Kozuki**_

_**August 28**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**6:15PM**_

_**Shinjuku Ghetto, Outskirts of Tokyo**_

We stood in a Spartan room, no decorations ordaining the walls, nor useless furniture spread. To say the space was small would be an understatement; there was barely enough space for the six of us to stand comfortably, disregarding the rotted crate come table upon which a tattered map of the outer Tokyo regions were displayed. The highways and major roads of the once bustling city of Tokyo were highlighted, some a vibrant green, others crossed off with deep red. The borders of the ghettos were marked in black, clearly defining the areas of our pseudo states. I ran a hand through my dull red hair as I looked upon the map, gaining an understanding of the situation.

"Britannia has continued to divert forces from the ghettos, focusing on the guerrilla skirmishes with the Japanese Liberation Front along Kobotoke Pass." Minami stated, readjusted his glasses over his squarish face and shifting his brown hair from his face as he motioned towards the jungle bordering the ghettos. "If this continues, there will be no more Britannian military elements anywhere near the ghettos very soon, meaning we can open up further operations into liberating the people."

"Yeah, ain't ya heard? Apparently that guy –what's 'is name again? Zero?- sent some of the JLF to that base over in Hyogo while the Brits were off dealing with some sort of trap they set up in Sasayama. Stripped the base clean; the only thing those Brits had left were the stuff they hadn't lost in Sasayama." Tamaki roared boisterously, the faintest hints of alcohol on his breath, and the slightest touch of red to his cheeks, "I'd have loved to see those damn Brits faces when they came back to an empty base!"

Sugiyama thwacked Tamaki up the side of the head, his yellow eyes watching the blundering dunce from behind his deep turquoise hair with a hint of contempt. "That's enough Tamaki; we're not here to discuss rumours."

"But the guy ain't a rumour! All the guys in the JLF all say he's real," Tamaki protested, rubbing his head in a vain attempt to rub the mild pain away.

"Regardless, Tamaki. We should be focusing on our own work, not that of others." I scolded, shifting my attention to the only woman present in the room, Inoue. "What's the living condition in the ghetto?"

"Well, we haven't been able to set up any viable farms, so we'll have to continue to rely on whatever the outer rim can produce." She declared with a minute frown, crossing her arms as she examined the map.

"So the same as usual?" I sighed, mulling over this new information. "Getting food here is a major problem, and we're not exactly on good terms with the rebels in Mitaka, so that cuts off a major supply route." I thought aloud, trying to air out my own thoughts in order to come up with a solution.

"Those assholes held up another food convoy the other day, trying to squeeze the drivers dry. I mean, it's bad enough with Britannia taxing us until we drop." Yoshida piped in, letting his disgust known; it was a conversation we'd had more than a few times. Raiders didn't sit well with the muscular brunette, nor with most in this room.

"And we've received reports that the guys in Toda will be doing the same thing." Minami announced, causing me to curse in my head slightly. The ghetto relied upon the old metropolitan expressway and New Omiya Dori to provide the much needed supplies unavailable in the ruins of the old entertainment district.

"So that cuts off both major supply routes to the ghetto?" I pointed out, receiving unanimous agreement across all sober members. "Looks like we'll need to either establish some sort of trade pact, or take hostile action." I deduced, scanning the map for some alternative.

Tamaki perked up at this, his hurt suddenly disappearing in favour of an ear splitting, malicious grin. "Yeah, let's go beat the shit out of those jackasses!" He cried out, the desire for bloody murder more than apparent in his eyes.

"Calm down Tamaki; I'd prefer to handle this peacefully rather than resort to gang warfare. The moment the ghettos stop working together is the moment Britannia has won." I reminded, turning to face the blue haired woman, "Inoue, you'll go and start trying to broker an agreement with the rebels." She nodded in understanding, so I moved onto my next subordinate, Minami. "Minami, I want you to start scouting Mitaka. See how well the rebels are liked. Maybe we could set up a mini revolution if Inoue can't secure a deal that involves less taxing," Minami smirked, giving a mock salute, pleased with the idea.

"Talking about taxes, Clovis has increased them yet again, but we've been able to sell more than enough clothing and electronics to keep the Brits off our back. Nobody is starving or living in too much squalor, so I wouldn't say it is awful" Sugiyama continued, handing me the Shinjuku Council's budget for me to look over. "Crime is still relatively low, mostly thanks to Yoshida and his gang."

"I resent that; we aren't just some gang. We're all trained and are about the only policing force this town has."

"Why do we even have to be police? We're freedom fighter! We should be fighting the Britannians!" Tamaki cried out, receiving frowns from everyone else; it was a conversation we'd had many times before after all.

"We don't have the manpower or firepower to push the Britannians out of Japan, and unless we do that, we'll never be free of them. And if we can't free ourselves from Britannia, we may as well just be terrorists." I admonished, receiving understanding nods from the other members. "Someone in Kyoto knows that as well. That's why they spent all the resources helping the ghettos back on their feet instead of tossing soldiers against the Britannians uselessly. If it weren't for them, I'm not sure the ghettos would be anywhere near as well of as they are now."

"So what, we just sit here and grovel for whatever the Brits give us?" The drunk growled, glaring at me.

"Of course not, Tamaki!" the blue haired man jumped in again, trying to calm the red head down.

A mild throb was starting to build in my mind, acting as a precursor for an intense headache. "For now, we wait, and build up strength." I spoke clearly, enunciating the importance to the drunken inept.

"Anyways," Inoue thankfully stepped in, continuing her summary for everyone's sake, "Ohgi has re-established some schooling in the wreck of Bao Shan College, and we've got teachers lining up for jobs there. The workers have also started to clear the wrecked buildings in the northern sector, meaning we should be able to start building proper housing there."

Sugiyama seconded her report, pitching his own opinion for us to consider. "Living conditions sure have improved since the invasion. This used to be nothing but rubble, and we used to be harassed on a regular basis. Clovis even has the Purists on a leash now, making sure they don't mess with the ghettos."

"Seeing as we now provide the bulk of his income, it is not surprising." Minami mocked, slouching onto the table and toying with the map, tracing the routes into the Britannian settlement, "As long as we keep bowing our heads and giving our money, Clovis doesn't mind how autonomous we are."

"The Brits aren't happy about it, though. Lots of lesser Britannian businesses are going bankrupt because they can't get cheap labour or compete with the cheap, high quality produce we sell." Sugiyama announced smugly, content with the minor victory.

"What concerns me is if Clovis or the other nobles decide to intervene. Like you said, the Brits aren't pleased." I piped in, returning the group to reality. "How is the armament going?" I asked Sugiyama, the blue haired man leaning over the map, pointing to the immediate outskirts of the settlement.

"The Keiyo Industrial Zone has recently restarted several of their factories, and have started to produce standard template weapons, namely the old gas-operated Kalashnikov' hybridized with EM rails and cells*. They're willing to trade them for food, clothing, workers, teachers or even living space for the families of their own workers."

"How haven't the Brits realised what they're doing?" Inoue asked.

"From what I understand, they're using the scraps of whatever project it is that Britannia has them working on to make the weapons. Clovis doesn't really regulate the purchase or storage of metals or plastics." Sugiyama explained, receiving an understanding nod from the rest of us. He in turn slouched slightly, a small frown on his face, "Besides, I don't think Clovis sees us as a real threat. We don't have the weapons to counter his Knightmares, so he'd undoubtedly win any actual engagement."

A sombre mood fell over the group as we considered what had just been said. It was undoubtedly true; even after five years of reconstruction, we were still in no shape to actually engage the Britannians. The only people to have yet gained one up on the Brits were the JLF, and they were as elusive as ever. Shaking my head free of the pessimism, I leant over the map, regaining everybody's attention. "Very well; have Yoriko Shiba move resources to Keiyo. I'm sure our little mayor would like some input in the deal. Sugiyama, you go along and negotiate the terms of the trade."

"Sure thing," Sugiyama happily complied, lazing back against the wall as we all manoeuvred around the table to get a better look at the map.

A knock at the door startled everyone into action, and we all scrambled for our weapons. I relieved my small pistol from its holster, gripping it tightly in my hand. Sugiyama and Inoue huddled behind the table, weapons drawn at the door. Minami sidled up to the door, back pressed to the wall and gun focused on the doorway. Tamaki blundered about, dropping his own weapon on the floor and chasing after it with his face.

"Who's there?" I called to the presence behind the door, making sure my body was well out of the way of the opening of the doorway lest they started shooting.

"Good afternoon, Master Statdfeld." A small, feminine voice came through the doorway, her Japanese accented lightly with Britannian. "I come on behalf of the seventh house of Kyoto."

My curiosity was piqued. I slowly peaked over the cusp of the doorway, carefully opening the door until I could see through the sliver. What I saw was almost chuckle worthy; there sat a relatively young mild-mannered Japanese woman, dressed in a rather puffy Britannian maid's outfit, with an African and Caucasian guards wielding modified Austrian AUG assault rifles and dressed in Japanese military uniforms. The sheer absurdity of it gave a palpable air of humour to the otherwise threatening situation. "If you want to talk to me, better tell those thugs to put their weapons away," I called out. With a militaristic gesture befitting a trained soldier, the woman signalled for the guards to dispose of their weapons. With a sigh of relief, I holstered my own weapon and opened the door, revealing the peculiar trio to the rest of my companions. The maid gave a respectful bow, righting herself to a surprisingly imposing stance that clashed with her mild serenity.

"How do you know my name?" I interrogated, staring the woman in her pale brown eyes. She wore a light smile, unflinching as she was in the presence of so many ragged and worn resistance fighters.

"My master makes it a point to know many things." She replied respectfully, making no move to address the topic further. We stood locked in a silent staring contest, neither giving ground nor taking it in this battle of pride.

It wasn't until our home grown blundering oaf got back up that the match was broken, as he drunkenly swaggered over to her, prodding her in the chest accusingly "What'cha talking about, you little brit bitch? There are only six houses in Kyoto," he stammered, checking his fingers to make sure the numbers were right, and grinning giddily when he found they were.

The Japanese woman brushed him off, giving the man only a dangerous look, asking for him to do it again in the sort of a way that suggested many broken bones and bruises would be the product. Even Tamaki seemed to have gotten the message, hesitant as he was to continue his little tirade. She turned to me, her gentle smile still unwavering. "Yes, well, the seventh house isn't particularly fond of becoming common knowledge. A Britannian aiding the Japanese resistance is not looked on too kindly, by either side." She explained cryptically, providing just enough information to whet my appetite though not enough to truly satisfy; an artist at negotiations, to be sure.

"I'm still unsure to whom it is you are referring." I admitted, none too pleased with being caught with nothing at hand.

"My apologies, let me rephrase; I am here on behalf of the one you call Zero." The room was encapsulated in a stunning silence, not even the draft whistling through the hall making a noise in the wake of her statement. While her expression remained constant, her eyes expressed her pleasure at the stunned faces my comrades gave. Even I found myself gawking, which was truly something special; Kallen would've wanted pictures. Clearing her throat, the Japanese woman continued on, her tone perfectly clear on who stood where in these dealings.

"I have a deal that you would do well not to ignore," She said, an underlying malevolence to her tone so subtle I'm not entirely sure I wasn't hearing things. I merely nodded, and she let herself in, curious guard in tow.

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_**Euphemia li Britannia**_

_**August 30**__**th**__**, 2015 A.T.B.**_

_**10:15AM**_

_**Imperial Palace, Pendragon**_

Chatter filled the hall, the vast collection of nobility, royalty, and military mingling. Everybody wore immaculate garb, from the highly ornamental formal uniform of the military, impeccably straight rows of medals on show, to the maroon gown sister was forced to wear under such circumstances. The elderly men of court milled about, making small talk with any of the other nobility present. The consorts, all dressed in their appallingly revealing evening gowns, all gossiped away about whatever their prince or princess did, the usual showmanship bred into the nobility coming to the fore. Said princes and princesses did much of the same, bragging to whomever would listen about their recent conquest; some literal, some sexual, some artistic.

The low droll of voices gave a certain buzz to the court, and not a single voice could rise above another. I found myself suffocating under the competitive banter, lost in a world that I should know like the palm of my hand. Cornelia looked about as disgusted as I felt, sneering at the lecherous remarks and military folly that made up the conversation around us. She despised court, and she made no effort to hide it; even I knew she was better suited to the inside of a Knightmare than to the political charade of court. Schneizel, who had taken to standing right next to us, looked as serene as ever, as if he belonged here, but his eyes were hollow, neither here nor there, as if in contemplation of something important, though I knew better than to ask what. He would just brush me off, tell me to enjoy the conversation and the chance to catch up with my siblings. So I stood.

"I wonder why we've all been called together like this? Is Father about to make another royal decree?" Carine asked, her cutesy high voice and sheer stupidity grating on Cornelia's ears visibly, the already agitated princess curling her fists tight enough to audibly pop her knuckles.

Thankfully, a burly man came to Carine's rescue, his wild, long chestnut hair splayed in all directions. His eyes were a dull bronze, mellowed and hardened until they only looked upon the world with aloof amusement, "Are you really that thick, Carine? Why else would we be here?" His voice was gruff and course to the ears, the voice evidence of an avid smoker. Carine glared at him, her face growing redder with every moment, until her cheeks nearly matched her hair. I stepped forward, not looking for this to escalate into an actual fight.

"Father could be announcing another brother or sister, Brother Ajax. None of us know why we've been called, so there is no need to rile up Sister Carine so." I protested, only receiving a faint chuckle from the surly man.

"You are as naïve as ever, Euphemia." I turned to face the direction of the new voice, this one rich and mellifluous to the ears. By comparison to his brother, his thick, chestnut beard was neatly trimmed and his luscious locks framed his chiselled features, punctuating his shimmering golden eyes; he looked the very pinnacle of the Charlemagnic king.

"But-" I huffed in protest, only for Cornelia to sigh at my side.

"Agamemnon is right, Euphy. Look about." Taking her advice, I watched the crowd, spotting more than a few familiar faces. "Everybody is here. Castor and Pollux were called back from Area Nine* where they were putting down a workers revolt" She started, motioning to the two bobs of turquoise hair, the two squabbling about the nature of the interruption, "And there is Clovis, still dressed up for his ball" Even amongst the gaudy, faultless jewels and embroidery, the blonde stuck out like a sore thumb, his usual viceroy's garb replaced by some overtly extravagant suit, cape and crown. Seeming to notice us now, Clovis moved over to us, his despondent pout a clear signifier of just how pleased he was to be called here. He waved us a greeting, though Cornelia blatantly ignored him, moving to face the dais again even as the flamboyant prince sidled up to us, greeting us politely "Whatever's happening, it's important," Cornelia finally finished, reverting her eyes back to the front

"I heard that they are making up the Aries Villa for some important guest to stay. About time someone took up the place. Perhaps I can ask them to allow me in to paint the gardens again?" Clovis added, pitching his two cents to an increasingly aggravated 'Witch of Britannia'.

"Yes, I've heard that a very important person was recently brought to Britannia; must be someone of incredible importance, especially if they warrant Father's attention." Agamemnon seconded, stroking his neat beard in thought.

It was then that a pair of the royal guards marched in from the left, hoisting a beautifully carved wooden podium between them. All muttering ceased in an instant, everyone waiting expectantly. The guards set it down in the centre of the throne, the utmost delicacy taken with each action. As the podium was centred, the guards took up attentive 'at ease' stances a few metres away from the podium, hands clasped behind their backs and legs spread. "His Majesty, the Royal Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire will now enter!" They shouted in unison.

Father emerged from the shadows to the right of the throne, his imposing, authoritarian presence demanding silence and respect. His royal regalia never failed to remind us of his militancy, the royal purple overcoat trimmed with gold and an exact replica of a general's dress uniform. His curled and coifed hair flowed and bobbed with every powerful step he took. His squared features and permanent scowl gave an impression of permanent contempt as he looked upon the crowd. He stood behind his handsomely crafted podium, watching the crowd with his hard, cold amethyst eyes.

"All men are not created equal! I have spoken these words before, endeavoured to teach this to all. Adversity separates the strong for the weak. The strong thrive, the weak perish; this is the way of the world. The strong consume the weak to survive." Father started, his voice booming through the hall, capturing the attention of anyone listening. He slammed his fist against his podium, the loud slap of flesh on wood shaking me to my bone. His grimace remained as pronounced as ever, his purple eyes darting through the crowd, chilling any that set their gaze upon him to the bone. "Honour, dignity, love; all pale in the face survival." I felt my heart sink at his words; how could he condone such behaviour? I felt revolted just being in the same room, but at the same time enthralled by his words; how someone could propose such a thing yet leave so many hanging from his words would remain a mystery for me. "But sometimes, the weak survive, feeding from the carcasses left behind by the strong, scampering in the darkness to avoid their fates. They are nothing but cowards, needing to be crushed."

Father paused dramatically, his eyes fixed on the massive, gilded doorway at the back of the chamber, motioning for the royal guards posted there to open the towering, wooden doors. With a nod, the guards took up positions behind the doors, heaving them open with all they could muster. I felt myself quivering in anticipation, curious to see who was being brought before the court today, and sorrowful that someone should have to be tried for simply wanting to survive. The wooden doors creaked on their hinges, the squeak shrieking through the hall. Everybody waited with bated breaths, some keen to judge whoever came through the door, others just merely interested to see who fathers next victim to be.

As the doors opened entirely, I felt my heart fall through my chest. I buckled at the knees, grasping Cornelia for support. "Impossible," Cornelia whispered beside me, her shock plastered on her face. Clovis spluttered, unsure of himself to produce any actual, coherent words. An audible gasp swept through the crowd, all stunned at the revelation standing in the breach. My throat was tight, choked, unable to produce any words. Tears welled in my eyes. This was just unfair.

He was menacing, a thin and lanky apparition. His mop of black hair obscured his eyes from view, but the sharp, violet eyes watched the court like a hawk, a sneer on his face. His jaw was sharp and angled, his cheeks gaunt and hollow. If pain and betrayal had a face, he would be it. Compared to the extravagant attire of all members attending the hall, his simple black suit looked obtusely out of place.

He strode with grace and purpose, marching dutifully and proudly to Father's dais. Pride welled in me as I realized even under the scornful gazes of everyone in the room, bar a few, he held himself strong. The feeling immediately died when he passed my position, and an inexplicable chill made its way down my spine. My breathing stuttered. My heart fluttered and fell. Gooseflesh invaded my system. My already quaking knees threatened to give way, or take me far, _far_ away. Something was _wrong_, oh so very wrong. Cornelia was stiff besides me, and Clovis looked about ready to faint. A fear I hadn't known since stumbling into the Imperial Mausoleum at midnight came bubbling up. As he continued his march, I felt ashamed by the relief I felt as he passed.

He stood before Father, as defiant as ever, his stance rigid. They eyed one another, watching each other intensely. The seconds passed in tense silence. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of watching, Lelouch knelt before Father, bowing his head in respect.

"I have returned from Area Eleven after my five year absence." Clovis gasped beside me, flustered by the implication of Lelouch's words.

"Lelouch; you were sent to Area Eleven to secure peace. You failed. Not just that, but you hid from me, running away from your failure. What have you to say in your defence?" Father's voice boomed through the hall, accusing our supposedly dead brother with the animosity of a predator tearing apart his prey.

Lelouch remained bowing, not rising to the bait or defying the accusations set against him. "I have nothing to say, Father." His voice was a light, though anything but meek.

Father cocked his eyebrow, the contempt in his gaze chilling to the bone. "Nothing? You failed your task, and you have no reason?" He growled, the sheer fire in his voice enough to make me cower behind Cornelia. He slammed his fist again, regaining my absolute attention, "Shall I make an example to your siblings of the punishment for failure and cowardice? Or perhaps I should leave you to my court to decide your fate?" My throat grew dry, my eyes wide; what would father do to him, just after he'd resurrected from the dead in so many eyes.

"That will not be necessary, father. I have already administered my own punishment." The hall remained deathly silent in the wake of his statement, watching as Father looked upon the exiled prince in disdain, sheer abhorrence seeping from every pore.

"Oh? And what makes you think that whatever you have done is an adequate punishment?" He demanded, receiving a few quietly muttered agreements from the crowd. Unperturbed by those conspiring against him, Lelouch answered the challenge with respect, body still slouched in a benevolent kneel.

"I am enlisted to join the thirteenth infantry company of the Rehabilitation Legion. I start training next week." Father cocked his eyebrow in surprise, a small grin sitting haughtily along his lips. Cornelia gasped at my side, obviously recognising whoever it was he was referring to, though I sat there in palpable confusion along with a large quantity of my cohort, simply aghast at the fact he was joining the military so soon after being found.

"I shall take my leave." Lelouch silently raised himself from the ground, swivelling on the balls of his feet and marching out of the hall with poised grace. Father watched amusedly as the exiled prince left with not another word, the crowds to either side shivering as he passed. He marched confidently out of the doors, leaving everybody muttering viciously about what they'd just witnessed. Even father seemed to be surprised at the conversation.

"You are all dismissed." His voice bellowed across our ears, the authoritarian throne signalling for us all to vacate the hall. Cornelia stood rooted to her position, looking unable to decide whether to flee for the door after Lelouch, or charge up to father and demand an explanation.

I gazed over to the door, my heart longing to reconcile the hurt soul who'd left just prior.

"Lelouch…"

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'_With the introduction of Ashford Lamperouge Industrial's patented medical exoskeleton technology, victims of paraplegia as well as amputees and other such impaired have seen a return to normal life.-'_

'_-The incredible technology developed by Reuben Ashford's Knightmare production company works by detecting the movement of muscles in the limbs, and mimics the action it postulates to be the correct response with minute electric motors situated in the joints of an external frame running the length of the limbs.-'_

'_-The technology isn't perfect, however; the joints remain stiff and relatively unresponsive, making even walking a rather finicky thing to be doing without practise using the skeletons.-' _

'_-Due to their reliance upon muscle movement rather than nervous messages, this technology cannot help quadriplegics or people suffering from muscular spasms.-'_

-David Scheller, Excerpt from '_How it Works, Issue #356_', Published 2013 A.T.B

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_I would just like to thank all those who followed, favourited, or reviewed this story._

_Thanks to 00Zy99, Barriers of Time, Debye, Hurader, Jamalymal, Kronos12, L'assassin orange, , Nisekoi, Ozy Ozwin, Shooter989, SpartanSith, The B4nshee, avlovin, kaname26, phantomace13, xchrispx510, Insense, Nine Bullet Revolver09, Storm Wolf77415, jamesofpower, NewGuyontheBlock, tttt, Hagstang, MM Browsing, SyntheticMercenary and beto for all of your support!_

_Special thanks to NewGuyontheBlock, who pointed out a major flaw in my identification of the Knightmare frames; you are most definitely correct about RPI being royal panzer infantry. So, this leaves me with a few options: Either I can redo the entire scene and change the company name to something else, or I can just refer to Knightmares as something else. So, if you noticed it, I am having the Britannians designate Knightmares as Imperial Mechanised Infantry, which in my eyes makes more sense. For one, not all Knightmares are in direct service of a royal family member, thus they aren't royal but rather Imperial. Panzer is a German term for tank, and it makes no sense for the Britannians to refer to their armour using German terminology, thus they are now referred to as Mechanised Infantry. This makes the new designation IMI rather than RPI._

_In respects to your other qualm, NGOTB, I am undecided on romantic relations. For the most part, this story focuses on conquest, politics, and the such. Romance may come up later, but will not hold particularly strong position in the story._

_To any and all who have problems with my change of perspective, I am sorry that you feel that way, but it is my preferred writing style. I like to provide multiple perspectives, and feel that first person provides the best opportunity to do so. I do not know how to make the transitions easier for you, seeing as I have already given identification and location, which should indicate the transition of perspective._

_*__**Kalashnikov hybridized with EM rails and cells- **__The Kalashnikov, or better known as the AK-47, is a fairly stock standard assault rifle. However, it relies on gunpowder as a propellant for the bullet. In the code geass universe, all modern small arms rely on strong electromagnetic (EM) pulses to propel the projectiles. As such, it is safe to assume that for practicalities sake that hybridisation would occur, where the new EM tech would be planted in the old Standard Template weapons. _

_***Area Nine-**__ New Zealand, as according to the Code Geass Wiki_

_Just as a sidenote, I just want to know if anyone else tires of Knightmares? No? Just me then? Sometimes I just want to go back to good old conventional warfare. Danger is so much more dangerous when you're not sitting comfortably behind four inches of hardened steel. _


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